The End of Innocence
by Jurana Keri
Summary: Sequel to my other story, "The Scarlet Woman". Ludwig deals with his grown daughter and his life within a reunited family, but will he have the strength to let his "liebling" go? Feel free to leave reviews or rate it!
1. Chapter 1

_1965_

_West Berlin, Germany_

"Hilda! Hilda! Kommen Sie und Spiel mit mir!"

The beautiful young woman dropped her pen and diverted her attention from her summer coursework and to her little brother, Heinrich, who was running toward her desk with a cookie in his hand. Hilda shook her head and looked at him.

"Nein," she told him. "Not right now. Maybe later."

"Come on!" Heinrich pleaded in his cute, small voice. "Bitte? There's always something better to do than work!"

"That's what you do when you are my age, Heinrich," Hilda reminded him, staring down into his baby blue eyes. "Life is work."

Hilda, a young woman of twenty-two, was doing college coursework to pass her final year at FreieUniversity, where she had been accepted on a full scholarship given to her by the BenedicktAcademy during her last year there. No one in the entire school knew about her getting the scholarship because the faculty didn't want the other students to be jealous of Hilda. However, everyone at the academy knew how insanely intelligent she was and they knew for sure she would be going places. At the end of her last year at BenedicktAcademy, the headmaster and her teachers had called her into a private meeting where she was told of her "superb accomplishment". She was eighteen at the time, but when she got the news to her parents, Ludwig and Krista, they were overjoyed; but baby Heinrich had not known what was going on.

Heinrich was born on July 27th, 1959, and when he was born, Ludwig had not been more proud of his son—he always wanted one and was so glad to finally have one. When he was just a few months old, the baby boy had already started to look like his father, but now, he was six years old—his father had become more prevalent in his appearance. He was a very handsome child with his father's strong, chiseled features, blond hair, and blue eyes. As a toddler, he resembled his older sister, but the effeminate baby-face faded quickly. Heinrich was not as intellectually gifted as his older sister, but he was very agile. Just a few weeks before, Ludwig had made him exercise everyday in order to be well-built like him.

"I just got exercise," Heinrich told his sister.

"Ja, and you're having a cookie. Dad isn't going to be happy with you once he finds out," Hilda answered.

"Mom gave me the cookie," Heinrich said sneakily, his voice turning into a whisper. "Dad doesn't know." He giggled sinisterly as Hilda closed her book, pushed it back on the table and stretched gingerly.

Hilda had grown up to be an intelligent, beautiful young woman—her long blonde hair was cut to just below her shoulders and it was always styled in a bouffant-like style. Her clear blue eyes were the most well-known of her feminine facial features, which started to look even more like her mother's. Hilda's eyes were still large, and she had a small nose and mouth which attracted many. During her four years at the university, many young men had tried their hardest to make Hilda theirs, but to no avail. The only problems she faced were the problems of being a target due to her naturally large bosom, and even though she barely had an exposed cleavage, boys who knew her always got together and thought of ways to come close to her, whether by dropping their books in front of her or bumping into her deliberately. Hilda did not know what exactly she wanted to be, but she majored in Classic Literature, a subject she had excelled in at the BenedicktAcademy, but she also took courses in world history, music, and French. Unlike the other languages she had learned as a child and became fluent in, she was slow to learn French, but when she drew linguistic parallels to Italian (which she spoke fluently), things started to come together and her mastery of the language came into being.

"Fraulein Bielschmidt, Heinrich; lunch is ready downstairs," Mathilde, their maid, told them as she peeked her head in the doorway.

As Heinrich ran down the stairs to the ornate dining room, Hilda took her time and rearranged her books neatly on her desk. She placed her pen back in the tin cup which held her other writing utensils and walked to the full-length mirror in her room. Because it was summer and her bedroom was hot, Hilda had undone a few buttons near the neckline of her dress, and when she saw them in the mirror, she buttoned them back up and brushed her hair just before joining her family downstairs.

The house of retired Lieutenant-General Ludwig Bielschmidt was quite sizeable, so it took some time for Hilda to finally reach their ornate dining room downstairs to have lunch with her family.

"BOO!"

Hilda jumped, startled by the sight of her little brother popping out at her playfully from behind a chair that stood near the stairwell.

"Don't do that!" Hilda lectured coldly.

"I was just kidding around," Heinrich told her, taking her hand. "Come on! Lunch is going to get cold! Come on! Come on!"

Hilda let herself be pulled to the dining room by Heinrich, but he didn't let her go until she sat down. Once Heinrich took his seat across from her at the table, Hilda saw their mother and father look at them blankly.

"You seem excited to eat," Krista told her son.

"I love bratwurst," the little boy replied as he seized his fork and chewed on his first bite rapidly.

"Don't eat so fast," Ludwig ordered, looking at his son strangely. "You're not an animal."

"But it tastes so good!" Heinrich cooed with his cute voice. Ludwig rolled his eyes as Mathilde came to him and served him a drink—it was a cold glass of beer; Hilda had noticed that after the birth of Heinrich, he had started to drink beer more often. She supposed that in his mind, he was the head of the household and was entitled to have such things whenever he wanted.

"Gibt es irgend etwas anderes, dass Sie, Herr Bielschmidt möchten?" she asked sweetly in her soft-spoken voice.

"Nein, danke," he answered.

Hilda watched as Mathilde left the room. Mathilde was a young, unmarried woman just three years older than Hilda, and the two young women got along like best friends. She had light brown hair and blue-green eyes with prominent high cheekbones and a small beauty mark near her soft pink lips. Mathilde was very beautiful, and she had come from Munich to work for the Bielschmidts shortly after Elsa, Hilda's old-fashioned, uptight nanny-maid, had retired from domestic service. She was pushing seventy when she retired in 1960 and she had gotten a chance to meet Heinrich even though he was just a baby. Hilda and the old woman had still kept in touch and sent letters, proving that the young woman had never forgotten who had _really_ raised her alongside her father. Heinrich really took to Mathilde quickly as a baby, but his attachment grew as time passed. She also a had a gentle demeanor and she always gave good advice, which were a few reasons why Hilda liked her so much—in a sense, Mathilde was her first best friend.

Ludwig looked over at his grown daughter reverently as she ate small bites of her lunch, one of the many lady-like behaviors she had picked up at her elite university. One day, Hilda had been sitting alone as usual until she saw a bunch of more popular girls approach her table and sit with her. Hilda noticed how daintily they were eating their food, and from then on, the young woman felt that this was the way to go.

"What are you doing, Hilda?" he asked. She looked up at him, straightened her back and placed her fork on the table.

"What do you mean?" she questioned with a deep breath.

"You are eating like a rabbit," he said. "You've never eaten like that before." The young woman raised her defined blond eyebrows and looked at him, her clear, great blue eyes sparkling.

"Everybody eats like that at Freie," Hilda told him. "Especially the girls."

"The _girls_ eat like that?" Krista asked, staring at her with her demonic black eyes, holding her fork as daintily as her daughter was eating her food.

"Ja," she told her mother. "It keeps the waist smaller."

"I will try that," Krista said, taking a small portion of food on her fork before taking it into her mouth.

"Hilda, you don't need to be any skinnier. You are fine the way you are," Ludwig reminded her, continuing to eat his food. Heinrich looked at his sister across the table curiously.

"Can I eat like that, too, Hilda?" he asked.

"Nein!" Ludwig said, pounding his fist on the table. "Heinrich! Eat like a normal human being! Don't listen to your sister!"

"Ludwig! Leave him alone!" Krista told him. "He's curious."

"Heinrich, this kind of eating is for girls," Hilda told him sweetly. "You are a boy."

"I know I'm a boy. I'll be big and strong like daddy," the little boy answered with a proud smile as he extended his arms and flexed. Krista and Hilda laughed at him as he continued on. "I'll take a _really_ big bite of my bratwurst! Just like daddy!"

The little boy scooped up a large portion of his food with his fork and opened his mouth wide, trying to fit all the food in his mouth. As he chewed, his mother and sister started to laugh hysterically at the mess that was all over his mouth. Ludwig looked at his son with shock, and his eyes turned to the doorway, hoping the maid would come and clean him up.

"Mathilde!" he called out. He saw her as she rushed in, but she also began to laugh upon seeing Heinrich's messy face and still chewing on the large amount of food he had put in his mouth to demonstrate his budding manliness. He looked at the laughing women and stood up, his frustration causing his heart rate to rise and his face to get red.

"Enough!" he shouted. Mathilde was startled by his sudden shout, and Hilda and Krista just sat there looking up at him. Ludwig took a deep breath and looked over at the maid, whose hands were clasped primly in front of her.

"Mathilde," he said. "Will you please clean up my son?"


	2. Chapter 2

Later that night, Hilda was sitting on her bed reading a book when Mathilde knocked on the closed door. Marking her place and closing the book, she looked at the door curiously.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"It's me," Mathilde said. "You have mail."

"Please come in!" Hilda said excitedly, letting her friend in her room. The young woman sat on Hilda's bed with her and handed her the letter. Looking at the address, she could see it was from Emilio, the son of Romano Vargas whom she had met in Amsterdam in the summer of 1957 when she attended her first World Meeting. That summer was also the most memorable in her life because she had finally, by chance, met her biological mother Krista, a Dutch woman who worked as a prostitute from the time she had given Hilda to Ludwig to the time Krista had met her daughter again and finally fell in love with her German father, whom she had seduced when he was just a soldier serving the Third Reich.

Krista, her real name being Kristanna Faulkener-Bielschmidt, was an extremely beautiful woman in her early forties, but her appearance scared people and made everyone think she was a demoness—her hair was fiery red, and her eyes looked like pools of blood that were so dark they looked black and soulless. Her pale white skin added to her frightening, yet mysteriously alluring persona. Though she loved her daughter very much after giving birth to her, she had turned her over to Ludwig due to the fact that she was unfit in many ways to care for her. Her career as a prostitute spanned fourteen years; that was until Hilda was lost in the Amsterdam streets and led to the Red Light District, where she was standing in front of her brothel waiting for clients. That night, Krista had helped the young girl back to her hotel only to find out that Hilda was the baby girl she had given up—that was when she saw Ludwig's face for the first time in fourteen years, and for the remainder of Hilda and Ludwig's trip, the time was spent with Krista to help her catch up on the young girl's life. It eventually led to the woman leaving her promiscuous occupation behind to start a new life in Germany, where she had finally married Ludwig and bore another child by him, their son Heinrich.

Hilda used her fingernail to open the envelope, and she took out the letter that was written to her, reading every word as he usually wrote it (all in Italian, of course):

"_My dearest Hilda,_

_ Finally, you are finishing up with school; I am so happy for you. I can't wait until you graduate—then it will be the perfect time to ask you something I've waited to ask for so long. Time has been my worst enemy for so long, but soon, that enemy will be defeated. _

_ It is such a shame that your father will not let you visit Italy. Does it ever bother you how much German pride he has to not let his own daughter, a grown woman, go and see a loved one in a different country? It's bad enough that my father hates your father with a passion, but it still irks me that you cannot come to Italy to visit with me. I hope his mind changes soon._

_Ti amo,_

_Emilio_"

Hilda smiled down at the note, recalling how her father was so full of pride being a German that he would never let her out of Germany for any reason. She didn't like that he was so controlling over her actions and treated her like a child, but he knew that it was in his best interest to protect his daughter at all costs.

"Who is Emilio?" Mathilde asked, pointing at the open letter. "You've never told me about him." Hilda smiled warmly at the maid, her friend, as she thought about the Italian who had loved her since she was fourteen. He was seventeen when they had met, and he fell in love with her the first moment he met her in Amsterdam during the 1957 World Meeting. Before their first formal meeting, Emilio had seen her powerful, reasoned speech during the conference and was enchanted by her charisma and raw logical reasoning. He had attended the meeting with his Uncle Feliciano, a longtime family friend of the Bielschmidts, and while they all hung out as Ludwig and Krista went for tea, Emilio had given her a beautiful white rose purchased from a flower cart vendor. When Emilio realized that Hilda was a fluent Italian speaker, he nearly melted into a puddle before her feet. _This is my chance at love_, he had thought all those years ago.

"Oh," she began dreamily, staring at the stark white, bland ceiling. "I've known him for about eight years." Mathilde touched her arm, dying to hear more about him.

"Mein gott!" she cried with excitement. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Shh, keep your voice down!" Hilda ordered, gesturing her calmly. Mathilde placed a hand on her chest as her other moved a light brown strand away from her face. She gazed into her clear blue eyes inquisitively, dying to hear even more about this mysterious man Hilda had been involved with.

"Emilio Vargas is the nephew of a close family friend of ours. You have met Feliciano," she began.

"Ja! I love him! He's so sweet!" Mathilde said nicely.

"Emilio is his nephew, and he…well, he is…in love with me," Hilda told him. Mathilde smiled lively and her blue-green eyes glittered.

"Do you love him, too?" she asked.

"Ja, I suppose I do," Hilda told her with a sigh. "I haven't seen him in quite a while."

"What's he like?" Mathilde questioned.

"He's tall, and he has dark brown hair and his eyes…they're like amber stones," she told her, slowly going forward on the bed so she was on her stomach and her elbow rested to support her chin. She stared up at the ceiling as though it were heaven. "He's handsome, and during my years of knowing him, he's always been a gentleman. Our fathers hate each other, but Emilio is so kind and…he's really…a good guy."

Mathilde stared at her blonde friend curiously, analyzing her features. From her clear, great blue eyes to her blonde hair, it was no wonder Hilda got all the attention she did. In fact, the maid secretly envied her—even though she was beautiful herself, she envied Hilda because of her physical traits, with her fair hair and light eyes. Mathilde had darker hair but light eyes, and as a small child living in Germany during the Second World War, many people looked at her and her dark haired family with hatred because they were "unfit" for the "master race".

"I wish I were as blonde as you, Hilda," she told her, playing with a loose strand of her golden hair. Hilda, still in her reverie, snapped out of it and looked up at the maid.

"You have pretty hair yourself, Mathilde," she confessed with a giggle.

"Nein," the maid disagreed. "You are the kind of German girl they would have wanted…back then."

"Back when the Führer ruled?" the blonde young woman asked, moving so she was lying on her side.

"Ja. I was four or five years old and I remember blond Germans stared at us hatefully in public," Mathilde said with a sad sigh. "It was kind of hard. My family was always questioned. They asked if we were Jews or Gypsies, or even Poles. Every time we denied having those backgrounds, they'd take my parents for questioning." Hilda was speechless, and she stared up at her curiously, feeling bad for her friend and housemaid.

"Mathilde, the war is long over and even though my father's mindset hasn't changed much, just know that times have changed," she told her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Danke, Hilda," she told her with a deep breath. "You should be getting to bed soon, I suppose."

"Ja, I am tired," Hilda said with a heavy yawn. Mathilde got off the bed as the blonde woman pulled down the sheets to go to sleep.

"I'll be sleeping, too, if you need me," the maid told her.

Nodding with gratitude for her kind words, Hilda went off to sleep, but little did she know that in a distant country, a loved one had been thinking a lot about her.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Si è visto nei fiori e perlato rugiada di mattina; _

_Nel verde della terra ore e nel cielo di blu eterna. _

_Si è sentito in primavera quando luce e raggi di sole, _

_Caldi e gentile, su d'angelo ala portare amore e musica per la mente. _

_E dove voce, di così giovane, _

_Così bella e dolce come natura scelta, _

_Dove primavera e gli amanti si incontrano? _

_Amore vita oltre la tomba, e la terra, che svanisce come rugiada! _

_Amo le fond, i fedeli e il vero."_

Emilio's heart was love struck—it had been that way for over eight years, but now that he was twenty-five, his feelings had intensified for a beautiful German girl to the point he was spending hours reading romance novels or writing love poetry. He was cooking dinner for him, his father Romano, his mother Benedetta, and his Uncle Feliciano, who was spending the evening at their house.

"Emilio!" his father called out cruelly. "Stop singing! You have been singing the same song for days now!" Emilio cringed at the sight of his father coming into the kitchen, and he watched what he was making—lasagna with tomato sauce and eggplant parmiggiana.

"I can't help it, papá," the young man told his father, still in his romantic trance.

"You have been singing that song for so long now and you still haven't found a love that lasts beyond the tomb," Romano lectured. "At least, not that I know of."

"It's best that you not know until I ask her to marry me," Emilio remarked after placing the food on plates. He grated a block of fresh parmesan cheese on each dish before bringing it to the table. Romano looked at his son with cold hazel eyes—was he that much enchanted by Hilda? Romano didn't really know if it was Hilda or not, but he knew that there was a woman his son had deep feelings for.

"Did I just hear that you were getting married, Emilio?" Benedetta asked as she sat down to eat. Uncle Feliciano had not arrived yet, but once there was a knock on the door, Romano walked hastily toward the door and opened it to Feliciano greeting him with a big hug.

"Ah! Buona sera! It's good to be here!" he said, squeezing his brother to the point his ribs started to crack. Romano shoved him off playfully and smiled, catching his breath.

"Nice to see you, brother," Romano told him leading him into the house. Emilio and his mother saw their family member come into the dining room and at once, he ran and hugged his uncle playfully.

"Buona sera! Come stai?" Emilio asked cheerfully.

"Sto bene, grazie! Hai preparato il cibo per stasera?" Feliciano asked, sitting down at the table where his food was all ready for him.

"Si, mangi adesso!" Emilio said excitedly as he jumped into his seat foolishly. Romano stared at him shortly before taking his first bite of lasagna.

"Perché hai fretta, Emilio?" he asked, looking at him as though he had two heads. "Settle down!"

"Non posso," Emilio said with a cheesy smile.

"You will!" Romano snapped, taking a bite of food. "You are twenty-five and you are acting like a buffoon. Stop it!" Benedetta kissed Feliciano on the cheek and began to eat her food, savoring the raw cooking skill Emilio had inherited from generations long passed.

"This is molto delizioso," she told him.

"Grazie," he told her with a cutesy face and voice.

"So, you are getting married?" Benedetta asked. Feliciano jumped up and reacted with rejoice over this statement—was his nephew really getting married?

"Mamma mia! Mio nipote sta per sposarsi!" he squealed.

"No, no, no!" Emilio protested, sounding calmer than he had been in quite a while. "I'm not getting married, but there is a lady I _really_ love."

"Che cosa é chiamata lei?" Benedetta asked happily, taking another bite of her son's delicious cooking. Emilio was reluctant to answer, but he did for honesty's sake even though he had not planned to tell his father and mother who he loved out of fear of Romano's disapproval. He sighed and looked down at his plate contemplatively.

"Hilda Bielschmidt," he said, almost in a slow, inaudible whisper.

"Yay!" Feliciano said, clapping his hands. "Her father is so nice! I've known him for—"

"No, Emilio," Romano cut in as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. "You are not marrying the daughter of that potato-eating bastard. Besides, German women are terrifying."

"No, loro non sono!" Emilio protested, his fiery temper about to erupt. "Hilda is very gentle and she is very beautiful. She also is finishing up at Freie University."

"Quella universitá é molto buona," Benedetta said happily, proud of her son. "That is one of the best in all of Germany! Is she home for the summer?"

"Si," the young man told his mother. "She is very intelligent, and she speaks Italian fluently."

"That is because _I_ taught her," Feliciano said as he continued to eat his food. "I remember she was just a baby and I was watching her while her father was away. I was making her a bowl of cut-up spaghetti and her first word was 'pasta'! Potete credere?"

"Aw, that's so sweet," Emilio said, calmed down by the thought of Hilda as he continued to eat his food.

After dinner, Benedetta got out a cherry cassata torte she had made just hours earlier. While preparing the cake to go into the oven, she spiked the batter with brandy and felt it was appropriate to do so considering that no one in the house was a child. Everyone loved it, but Romano and Benedetta finished up long before Feliciano and Emilio were even halfway done. Sitting alone in the dining room, Feliciano was curious about Emilio's tender feelings for Hilda. He had known for a long time about how he felt towards Hilda, but he was curious about how intense his feelings really were.

"Ah," his uncle said after swallowing some of the cake. "I remember the day you and Hilda met."

"Si," Emilio said dreamily. "I love her. Lei é mia vita."

"Aw, that's so cute! My nephew has finally found someone. Good thing it is someone I have known for a very long time," Feliciano said with a sigh.

"So, you really knew Hilda as a baby?" the young man asked.

"Si, she was a beautiful child. Now she is a beautiful woman. Very smart, too! I remember first hearing her play a piece on the piano. I had been visiting with her father one weekend. She played like a pro," his uncle said, taking another bite of his cake.

"I know she plays the piano, but I have never heard her play for real," Emilio answered. "Does she sing?"

"Well, I have only heard her hum, if I remember correctly. I bet she does, but hates doing it," Feliciano said, moving closer to whisper. "Emilio, where do you think Benedetta keeps the brandy? I can tell this cake has brandy in it."

"Si, she always does that with this kind of cake," his nephew told him. "But, I think she keeps the brandy in that cabinet up there. God only knows what else is up there."

"Want to have a few shots with your uncle? I've never been a big drinker, but with you, I'm cool with it," Feliciano told him. Emilio smiled devilishly and nodded.

"Si, facciamo bere!"

Emilio got up from his seat and toward the tall wooden cabinet and struggled to open it. He realized that it was locked, so he took out two paperclips and picked the tiny lock on the left door open and it popped open. Emilio smiled sinisterly as he saw all of the bottles of liquor and alcohol stored away from view. There was a bottle of French wine, which immediately reminded him of Hilda—she loved French wine, and during the times he had seen her with Mathilde, her maid and best friend, during an occasional celebration or get-together, they had drank wine and had good times. Krista, Hilda's mother, also enjoyed French wine and often had it imported straight from Paris.

"Questo é il suo vino favorito," the young man whispered, looking at the label on the dark, glass bottle. It was all in French, but he could clearly tell what kind of wine it was—it was red.

"Chi?" Feliciano asked, his attention on his nephew as he stood up to join him near the liquor cabinet. He looked down at the bottle before his eyes met with his nephew's amber-brown ones. Emilio smiled at the bottle with Hilda on his mind.

"A Hilda piace il vino, soppratutto il vino francese," the young man clarified. Feliciano giggled in his usual cheerful tone.

"She should have fallen for a Frenchman, then," he joked. "He could give her more French wine you could." Emilio laughed and shrugged nonchalantly.

"She probably hasn't even tried Italian wine," the young man told his uncle. "I think I'll surprise her next time I see her. I'll give her two bottles of wine—one will be French, and the other will be Italian."

"Ah-hah!" Feliciano giggled, placing his arm around his nephew. "Do you…have some…devious plan behind all that wine you'll be giving her?"

"No!" Emilio said defensively, looking at his uncle. "Believe me, not until she is my wife, Uncle Feli. I do _not _want to steal the pearl from the flower too soon."

"Aw, you are such a gentleman!" his uncle said jovially, patting his dark brown hair shortly before a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey caught his eye. He reached for it and took a few small glasses from the lower shelf and set them on the kitchen counter.

Emilio looked at the bottle as he put it back on the shelf gently and reverently, and looked over at what his uncle got from the liquor cabinet. The negative memory of him striking a woman in the middle of the street after drinking too much whiskey with a friend at the town bar came to his mind as he stared at the label with uncertainty—_Jack Daniels_.

"Uncle Feli, don't take that out," Emilio told him.

"Perché?" Feliciano asked as the young man took the bottle and slammed it on the upper shelf and took out a big bottle of scotch.

"I almost got in big trouble one night for striking a woman in the street," Emilio said, closing the liquor cabinet doors without locking it back up. "I was so drunk on whiskey that I didn't know what the hell I was doing."

"Were you ever drunk like that before?" Feliciano asked with a worried look on his face. Emilio looked at his uncle with shame in his amber eyes as he walked to the table and poured the liquor into the two glasses. Feliciano sat across from him and looked at the drinks contemplatively—was it such a good idea for him to suggest alcohol to bond with his nephew?

"We…don't have to drink if you don't want to. If you are—"

"You know, someone once said to eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you may die," Emilio said. "Uncle Feli, la notte é giovane. I'll be damned if I am bored with nothing to do with my uncle. Besides, I learned an important lesson—don't drink so damn much. I was a brutal alcoholic then, now I realized that I could be so drunk I'd strike Hilda and not even know it. I love her, and I don't want to hurt her with some stupid addiction."

"That is true, Emilio. I like how mature you've become," he said, taking his full glass before sipping it entirely in one gulp. Emilio looked at him before he even took a sip to his lips.

"Che cazzo?" his nephew asked. "Want more?"

"Si," Feliciano said, taking the bottle as he gently poured it into his glass. "It's strong, but it's good. I bet Romano drinks in the middle of the night."

"I've waken up in the middle of the night as a child to him drinking in here," Emilio recalled. "He'd tell me to go back to bed. My mom only uses the brandy for making the cherry cassata torta."

"Hey, we could have gotten drunk off that cake!" Feliciano joked. Emilio laughed hysterically at this comment and looked at him.

"Real funny," he said, drinking his scotch. "I was just singing in the kitchen earlier today when I was making the food, and then my father comes in and tells me to stop singing."

"What were you singing?" Feliciano asked.

"Ah, a song about how the beauty of springtime and heavenly angels bring love to the mind. The song is '_Love Beyond the Tomb_.'" Emilio told his uncle, supporting his chin with his fist as his elbow rested on the table. His mind went off in the clouds again, thinking about his love for Hilda.

"Aw! Sei in amore! Ho saputo quello," Feliciano said, smiling at his nephew.

Emilio sighed as he reached into the pocket of his pants. He pulled out something and put it on the table, but it was only seconds later that Feliciano saw that it was a ring—a sparkly diamond solitaire set in the thin, tiny prongs of a simple gold band. His uncle smiled at it, but Emilio held it up to show him how simply elegant it was.

"Is that for Hilda?" he asked with a smile.

"Si, and I will give it to her the next time I see her," Emilio told him. "I want the moment to be perfect!"

"I am so happy you are uniting our families," Feliciano told him. "I'm so happy that Germany will be my in-law!"


	4. Chapter 4

"Hilda," Mathilde said, gently shaking her friend awake. "Aufwachen. Ist nicht es das Gartenfest Ihrer Mutter heute?"

The young woman's blonde hair flipped as she jerked up upon hearing the maid's words. She had forgotten all about her mother's garden party, where she was having a get-together of the friends she had made in Germany, who were women of high-social standing—wives of government officials or high-ranking army officers. Some of these women had adult daughters of about Hilda's age who they were bringing with them. Pulling the comforter off her body and getting to her feet quickly she ran behind her dressing screen and pointed at the maid, directing her to her closet.

"Mein gott! I almost forgot! Mathilde, please take something really nice for me to wear out of my closet," she pleaded. Her friend went straight away and opened the closet, pushing aside numerous hangers with clothes on them to finally come across a light yellow dress with white frills around the neckline and the hem of the skirt. Pulling it out, she showed Hilda, who approved hastily of her choice.

"The party is in a half hour. It isn't like you to sleep so late, especially since you have more coursework to finish," Mathilde told her as she handed Hilda the hanger with the dress on it. The young woman put it over herself as soon as her undergarments were on and pulled the skirt down, gesturing her maid to come over and tie the white sash around her waist. Mathilde made sure it was on perfectly before making a bow in the back.

Hilda rushed from behind her dressing screen and toward her shoe box pile in the closet, ravaging through them to find her finest white pumps and making a mess in the process. She was already wearing stockings, so she slips on the shoes quickly, but almost tripped on her way to her vanity table. Mathilde leaned down and matched up all the shoes that were scattered all over the floor and put them in their correct boxes before stacking them all in Hilda's closet in the same, neat fashion they had been in before she messed them all up. She turned her head, watching as her friend rummaged through her vanity drawers to find her lipstick, blush, and eyeshadow. Once she found her makeup brushes, she was all set to start. Mathilde stood behind her and began to brush her hair.

"Want me to style your hair?" she offered.

"Ja," Hilda said, taking a hairclip from her drawer. "Just clip some of it back like usual."

"Alright," Mathilde said as she started to gather strands from the sides of her head to clip it in the back of her hair.

Once her makeup was all finished, Hilda rushed down the stairs, but stopped once Mathilde was following her. _Is she coming to the garden party as well_, she asked herself.

"Mathilde!" she said. "Are you attending the party as well?"

"Nein, in fact, I'll be preparing refreshments and wine for all of you," she answered. "But you have fun, alright?"

Nodding, Hilda met with her mother in the dining room, Heinrich and Ludwig also being present. Krista stood up from her chair and stopped her daughter's haste quickly with a lecture.

"Hilda! What took you so long?" she asked, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders. The young woman was out of breath but answered anyway.

"I overslept, mom," she said with fatigue. "I forgot about the party."

"Well, at least you made it down here on time," the woman told her, moving closer to speak more quietly to her. "If it were your father, he'd have a fit!"

Ludwig looked at his wife and daughter and walked closer to them, but his attention was mostly on Hilda. He couldn't believe how much she had grown up, and as a father, he knew that he would always call her his little girl. The young woman looked at her father curiously—he was dressed casually in a white dress shirt with ¾ sleeves, dark brown slacks and leather brown loafers; it was what he wore almost everyday since retiring from the army as a Lieutenant-General.

Ludwig was a very stern, serious man who seemed like he hadn't aged from the time of Hilda's birth. He was twenty-one when he had received her on his doorstep from Krista, and raised her as a single parent for the next fourteen years until he ran into her biological mother again in Amsterdam during their trip to attend the World Meeting in 1957. It was hard to raise a little girl all by himself, but with the help of his friends and allies Feliciano Vargas and Kiku Honda, and an old German domestic service worker, Elsa, Hilda turned out to be the perfect child, at least in Ludwig's eyes.

As mentioned, he looked rather young—he had still slicked his light blond hair back, and his intense, light blue eyes were still full of the youth and vigor as he had when he was a young man. Both Krista and Hilda had noticed that gray hairs began to appear in his hair, but since he was blond, it was barely noticeable. While many men got pot-bellies or out of shape as they aged, Ludwig's tall, muscular form stood the test of time—he was still a very able-bodied man at age forty-three, and he always encourage Heinrich to be as serious, organized, and physically-fit as he. Of all things, the only thing that seemed to fade on Ludwig's body was his eyesight—about four years earlier, he had began to notice that his vision was fuzzy, so he wore his glasses much more often. It made him come across as sophisticated, but he was still somewhat physically intimidating.

"You look very…nice," he told his daughter after staring at her for a few moments of silence. Hilda smiled at her father and hugged him.

"Danke, vati!" she squealed happily, letting him go. "Are you going to the garden party, too?"

"Nein, Hilda," he told her, shaking his head slowly. "Garden parties are for women. I am a man—I'd rather go to a luncheon for retired military officers." Heinrich and Hilda laughed heartily at his statement.

"Oh, dad," she said. "I understand."

Within the next ten minutes, Hilda was sitting down on one of the patio chairs set up in a circle in their backyard. Krista's new hobby, upon marrying the father of her daughter, was gardening—she loved flowers, often of the lethal variety, and she used their spacious backyard for parties and get-togethers very frequently. The woman was shocked that she had an innate green thumb—before retiring, Elsa had managed the garden with simple buds and shrubs. Now, Krista had made it one of the most beautiful parts of Ludwig's property by planting crocuses, ivies, roses, lilies, lilacs, and other beautiful flowers. Being a woman of Dutch origin, Krista really loved to plant tulips in the springtime, and Hilda always admired the different colors the open buds had during the summer months, the time by which they had grown to their peak.

Mathilde soon came out to the garden, escorting a couple of different women, as young as Hilda and as old as Krista, to their seats just before going to the cloth-covered refreshments table, where she prepared wine for them all to have. Hilda saw that these women were dressed in bright floral pattern and pretty pastels with matching shoes and hats, the older ladies with gloves. Some of the older women she had met before. The young woman stared at them, realizing that she herself had not had time to get one of her hats and put it on for the party. Despite this, Hilda struggled to make a good impression—it was not the first time meeting Krista's friends, but it was the first time she had met their daughters, who stood looking around the garden with their noses tilted up in the air as if they were all that in a bag of potato chips. Then, Krista came out and greeted the older woman with a kiss for each cheek and gentle handshakes for her daughters, but Hilda was called shortly after to greet the guests.

"Hilda!" she called out. The young woman got up and walked over to the group of women, staring at them in a friendly manner—nevertheless, the woman's daughters looked at her with a slight bit of contempt.

"Hallo, Frau Faltermeyer," Hilda said as the familiar woman took her hand.

Frau Ingrid Faltermeyer was the wife of a government official, and a well-known socialite at that. Hilda could tell she was beautiful as a young woman and immediately assumed that she did modeling for pin-up magazines. Her graying blonde hair was held back in a bun and was adorned with a white veiled hat to match her light, loose-fitting dress and heeled sandals. Her blue-gray eyes were perceptive and gave a lot of insight about her character—when she had first seen her, Hilda got the impression that she was a firm but fair woman who would not ever settle for second best. _That's somewhat true, considering her husband is high up in society_, Hilda had thought initially.

"Hallo, Fraulein Bielschmidt," she told her, kissing her cheek gently. "First order of business, I would like for you to meet my daughters; Erna and Johanna." She looked at her daughters, who were dressed in casual summer finery and were among the young women who gave off a snobby vibe.

"Hallo," Erna said, her nose in the air as she gently shook Hilda's hand. "You are Hilda Bielschmidt?" The young woman nodded and smiled, despite her rudeness.

"Ja," she answered.

"You are attending FreieUniversity?" Erna asked. Hilda nodded again.

"Ja," she said.

"That is a very reputable institution," Erna said primly. "It's a wonder they actually accepted a female student. Then again, I have heard about intelligent you are."

"Ja, Fraulein Bielschmidt is the daughter of former _generalleutnant_ Ludwig Bielschmidt," Frau Faltermeyer said, cutting into their conversation, turning her eyes toward Hilda. "How are your studies?"

"They are going well," Hilda said, straightening her back to be more like Erna. "I am in my final year now."

"Wunderbar," the older woman said. "Tell all of the guests once they arrive. It'll be some special news for everybody."

Within the next half hour, over fifty women had come to Krista's garden party, while Frau Faltermeyer and her daughters were enjoying wine at their seats. Hilda had decided to put off having wine until everybody came and was settled. Meanwhile, Krista had a glass of wine in her hand until one of her friends, Frau Ursula Meinkampt, came up to her upon seeing Hilda standing near the garden's gate to greet guests.

"Frau Bielschmidt," she asked. "Who is that beautiful blonde angel near the gate?"

"That is my daughter, Hilda," Krista answered after she sipped her wine.

"Hilda Bielschmidt? Mein gott, I've heard about her studies at Freie!" Ursula said, staring at her with shock. "It's amazing how she got accepted into such a college!"

"Yes, it is," Krista said, agreeing with her. "She received a full scholarship to the school when she was in her last year at the Benedickt Academy."

"Wunderbar!" she exclaimed as she took a cigarette from her purse and lit it, dragging on it a few times before offering Krista one. Willingly, she took one from Ursula and lit it, dragging on hers as well.

Meanwhile, Hilda was just strolling around without anybody talking to her. While she was doing this, Erna, Johanna and a few other young women were seated, sipping their wine as they stared at her watchfully.

"What is she doing?" a girl name Waltraud said with uncertainty in her voice. "She is an awfully strange girl."

"Do you even realize who you are talking about?" Erna said, cutting in defensively of the girl she had met earlier.

"Who is it?" Waltraud asked, her dark, defined eyebrows raised curiously.

"That is Hilda Bielschmidt. She is akin to a savant," Erna told her.

"She is the daughter of former Lieutenant General Ludwig Bielschmidt and the hostess of the party," Johanna said.

"Wait, her mother is that woman who looks like a _demokeit_?" Waltraud asked. The two sisters nodded, looking at her blankly.

"I bet that girl is a _bastardkind_," Erna said coldly, staring at the blonde girl walking around. She saw her stop and lean against a latticed framework with ivy intertwined between the crossed wood, staring blankly into space.

"Why do you say that, Erna?" Johanna asked.

"Because I remember when her father climbed through the ranks over the years. Everyone knew he had a daughter, but assumed his wife had died. I don't know, but something is wrong with that picture…her mother comes back into her life after all those years of being away," Erna explained, staring at Hilda's dress with envy. "It just doesn't happen that way."

"If you look at Hilda's face, she looks a bit like Krista," Johanna added, arguing with her sister's statement. "Those huge eyes, her small nose and mouth…everything about her is so delicate, girls. Just look at her. I'm getting so jealous looking at her."

"It doesn't sound right, Johanna, that her mother would be gone for, what, fourteen years? And then later come back and marry Herr Bielschmidt," Erna said, sipping her wine without taking her eyes off of Hilda. "You can say she looks like Frau Bielschmidt all you want, but I still think it's weird."

"_Humph_," Waultrad groaned. "She isn't all delicate, Johanna. I mean, look at her bust—she's huge!"

"That's just…ew," Erna remarked. "Makes me glad to be nearly flat."

"Hey, Johanna," Waltraud said. "Go and get Hilda over here. I'm starting to feel bad she's alone." The girl pointed at herself, and Waltraud looked at her with contempt.

"No, the ghost behind you," she said, her voice building in sarcasm. "Go and get her over here."

Johanna took her wine glass and walked over to Hilda, smiling at her as she approached her. Hilda noticed her and smiled back shyly. _Ah, she's a shy one_, Johanna thought.

"Hallo, Hilda," she said.

"Hallo," Hilda answered. "You are Johanna?"

"Ja!" she said with a smile. "I was just coming over her to see if you would like to have some wine with us girls?"

"Ja, I'd love to," she said gently.

Johanna took one of the young woman's small hands and led her to where Erna, Waltraud, and two other young women were sitting. Upon her arrival, Hilda grew nervous as Erna looked her up and down vigilantly. When their eyes met, Hilda smirked shyly at her.

"Hallo," she said with a small wave of her small hand.

"Hilda!" Erna said with false friendliness. "Come and have some wine with us!"


	5. Chapter 5

Hilda sat down across from Erna in one of the empty chairs and she began to blush. She had never met these girls before, and to be in front of someone she didn't know made her both nervous and suspicious. Although she had never been given a reason to not trust someone in her life, who knows what these girls could have been capable of? After all, she didn't know them.

"You didn't wear a hat today?" Waltraud asked, sipping from her glass. "That's very unusual."

"How so?" Hilda asked, looking at her.

Waltraud Scherzinger, the daughter of the current general of the German military, was a very average-looking young woman and had a cynical streak to her complex, mordant personality. Her hair, a dark auburn shade, was pulled back in a bun and rested on by a bright pink sunhat. She wore a very pretty dress with a pencil skirt on the bottom, with white stockings and white pumps similar to Hilda's. The eyes of the two women met, and Hilda could easily tell that Waltraud was an intense character with dark, but penetrating eyes that concealed the depths of her soul and her true emotions well.

"We always wear hats to formal parties such as this," Waltraud said finally after Hilda studied her features. "You _are_ of our standing, aren't you?"

"Ja, of course," the blond woman told her. "I woke up late this morning, and I was in a rush to get ready. At least my maid was there to help me prepare."

"You have a _maid_? Wait, how many maids do you have?" Johanna asked.

"Just one," Hilda answered casually. "Her name is—"

"Why hasn't she brought you your wine?" Erna snapped. "She probably isn't doing her job correctly, not making you wear a hat or bringing you wine when she sees we have drinks over here."

Hilda watched as the maid walked by, but just when she was about to call her over to request a glass of wine in the polite manner as she usually had, she heard fingers snapping from the group of women she was with. Looking back to see who it was, she saw that both Erna and Waltraud were making the rude gesture.

"Dienstmädchen!" the two girls shouted, getting her attention. "Bringen Sie ein Glas von Wein hier!"

Hilda squirmed as Mathilde approached their group and stood primly, trying to be polite. The maid noticed her friend's discomfort, but took orders from the other women anyways.

"Kann ich Sie irgendetwas bekommen?" she asked brightly with a smile. Waltraud and Erna, along with Johanna and two other women named Katarina and Gretchen, all made orders at once. Hilda rested her forehead in her hand and closed her eyes, annoyed by their rudeness. _How ironic_, she thought, _they look so proper and good on the outside, but on the inside, they are all uncouth_.

"Please!" Mathilde begged, talking over the girls with a gesture to calm the down. "One at a time, please." Erna stood up and looked at her coldly with her icy, blue-gray eyes. Her light brown eyebrows rose up in disbelief—how dare someone like a maid order around a girl of her high social standing?

"How dare you speak to me like that, _unverschämtes Dienstmädchen_. Who do you think you are?" she said, slowly but coldly. Hilda could fell the fires of her temper burning within her, but she couldn't just start a fight or intense argument at a party like this.

"I was just—"

"You were _nothing_. _I_ am to order you around; _you_ cannot ever order someone like _me_ around," Erna snapped. "In fact, speaking of orders, will you please bring us some more wine?"

Mathilde nodded, looking at Hilda to show she was offended. She saw the blonde woman's face red with anger, but her great, innocent blue eyes did a good job of hiding it. Erna sat back in her seat and wiped some sweat from her forehead with a clean white handkerchief. Johanna reached over and placed her hand over her sister's, trying to calm her down.

"Erna, you didn't have to be like that with the maid," she told her. "She was only trying to get everyone's orders accurate."

"Ich konnte mich nicht weniger sorgen," Erna snapped, taking a deep breath. "Someone like _her_ will _not_ speak to someone like _me_ that way. Knowing her, she couldn't _fathom_ what I would do to her if she—"

"Hilda, does your maid always do her job correctly?" Johanna asked, ignoring her sister entirely. The girl looked at her sighed with a nod.

"Ja, she does," she said. "She is very thorough, believe it or not." Erna looked at her and rolled her eyes. Gretchen leaned forward and tapped Hilda's shoulder gently.

Gretchen Sommer, the daughter of a current lieutenant in the German army, has the appearance of an angel, much like Hilda had when she was a teenager. She had her blonde hair in a bouffant, and she wore a baby blue hat to match her exquisite sundress. Her eyes were greatly defined by her outfit, as they were also blue. Once she first spoke to Hilda in that moment, the girl appreciated her guest's soft-spoken voice and seemingly kind nature.

"Ja?" Hilda finally answered in response to her tapping her shoulder.

"You are the girl everyone has been talking about? You attend FreieUniversity?" Gretchen asked with a smile. Hilda nodded gingerly, prepared for another rude comment—instead, Gretchen was kind enough to not even say such things, and Hilda admired her sense of moral decency.

"Mein gott! I have also heard that you are like a savant!" she squealed. Hilda smirked at this statement and giggled.

"I'm not a savant," Hilda said. "I mean, I did well at the BenedicktAcademy in a lot of subjects." Gretchen gasped, smiling at this thought.

"BenedicktAcademy? When were you sent there?" she asked.

"I was eight," Hilda told her. "I also skipped a grade when I was fourteen."

"Wow! What an achievement! Are you in your final year at Freie?" she asked.

"Ja," Hilda responded.

Mathilde came to their group with a metal tray full of wine glasses, but when she leaned down to serve them, the tray tipped down and wine went all over Erna's dress. Johanna, Waltraud, and Katarina gasped in shock and with sympathy regarding Erna's embarrassment. Gretchen, on the other hand, took her handkerchief and tried to wipe her clean—Erna threw her hands in the air and stormed up from her seat, looking at Mathilde coldly again, only her expression was more ardent with anger.

"Heilig! I have just about had enough of you!" Erna screamed furiously, drawing attention from the older women on the other side of the garden.

"I am so sorry," Mathilde said with pity. "It was an accident!"

"Accident? Look at my dress! I bought this especially for this party, and YOU RUINED IT!" the woman screamed, holding out the skirt to show her how much she was stained. A good percentage of her skirt was drenched in wine, but luckily, the top of her dress only had a few drops.

"It was!" Mathilde told her. "I am very sorry!"

"Erna, let me clean you," Johanna offered, taking her handkerchief and dabbing it on her skirt. The angry young woman pushed her away and charged at Mathilde, who walked a few steps back every time Erna took a few steps forward.

"First you order me around, and now you ruin my dress!" she screeched. "I would love to see how you would react if you had a 300-Deutsch mark dress ruined!"

Frau Faltermeyer approached her daughter, humiliated by her behavior. Being her mother, this did not look good for her family that her daughter was acting this way. Her face grew red, and her palms sweat within their white, clean gloves.

"Erna! What happened?" she called out, speeding her pace toward her daughter. Erna looked at her and pointed a finger at Mathilde.

"This imbecile spilled wine all over my dress!" her daughter said slowly and angrily. Hilda stepped forward and took Mathilde aside, going back in front of Erna to stand up for the maid.

"Erna! DAS IST GENUG!" she shouted, letting her temper rage out toward the unruly rich girl she had been sitting with. "I can't believe you! You think just because you are the daughter of a delegate that you can boss people around and bully them?!" Erna looked at her with disbelief—she had really woken up the dragon now.

"How dare you?!" the girl with the wine-stained dress retorted.

"No, how dare _you_?!" Hilda yelled, pointing her finger at Erna. "You are overreacting! It's only a dress! Knowing how rich _you_ are, I bet you would have others at home! It was an accident! Mathilde is my friend, and I will _not _tolerate _anybody _who will bully or belittle her! She may not be of a high social standing, but she at least does her job correctly and was trying to be nice to you!"

"You can't tell me that!" Erna screeched. Hilda had had enough of her antics—she wanted nothing more than to smash a wine bottle over her head.

"Yes, I can!" Hilda responded angrily. "You are on _my_ father's property, and if you don't like it, you can just leave!"

Erna's fists clenched and tightened, but before she could attack Hilda and hurt her physically, Frau Faltermeyer held her shoulders from behind, holding her back before she could even take a charging step forward.

"Erna! Let's go home!" she said. She obeyed her mother reluctantly, but kept her icy, cold eyes on Hilda as she was taken away from her. Then she started shouting again.

"ICH HASSE SIE, HILDA BIELSCHMIDT! SIE BASTARDKIND! SIE WERDEN MIR NIE ERZÄHLEN, DER CHEF BIN! ERINNERN SIE SICH, DASS IHR VATER REITRED IST UND ICH SIE ALS EIN UNEHELICHES KIND LEICHT AUSSTELLEN KONNTE! WIR ALLE, WISSEN HILDA! WIR ALLE WISSEN!"

Hilda walked back into the house upon her removal from the party and her incriminating rant. How would she get in trouble for being an illegitimate child at one point in her life? She wondered as her feelings intensified for the rest of the day.


	6. Chapter 6

At last, Krista approached her infuriated daughter, placing her hand on her shoulder as Hilda watched Erna exit their backyard. Her blue eyes grew calmer when she looked at her mother, and she sighed, letting all of her hateful feelings and anger out of her body. Krista looked her straight in the eye, trying to see if she was alright.

"Are you alright? What happened?" she asked. Hilda looked down to the white heels on her feet, which stood still on the grassy terrain.

"I'm so sorry, mom," she said, realizing that her mother could have been humiliated by her behavior. "I honestly didn't want to fight with her."

The other women stood around, but Johanna, Erna's sister, was still present with Gretchen, Waltraud, and Katarina, who had stood up from their seats just moments earlier. Johanna walked toward Hilda, who turned to face her in order to pay attention to anything she had to say.

"It isn't your fault, Hilda," she told her with pity. "My sister has always been like that, even when we were young. Don't let it get to your head."

"She is your sister?" Krista asked, her soulless, demonic eyes diverting to the young woman near her daughter.

"Ja, that was Erna that left. She is older than me and thinks she is above everybody," Johanna answered. "I am really sorry for her be—"

"Don't apologize," Krista said. "It's fine."

Krista looked at the bunch of her guests standing around where Hilda and Erna had their intense verbal argument and tried to lighten the mood.

"Ladies, there's nothing to see here," she announced. "Have fun! It's a party! Go about your business!"

Everybody looked at her, shrugging with looks of confusion as they all started to talk and drink from their glasses again. Hilda looked at all of the guests, and then to Johanna and Gretchen. She was deeply grateful to them for being so kind to her, and even showing sympathy for someone like Erna by helping her clean her dress and whatnot. Doing something like that showed that they were good enough to be friends with Hilda, for she shared those same humble qualities.

The party went on until three o'clock that afternoon, and surprisingly, things got much better. A band composed of a cellist and two violinists played beautiful music that was appealing to all of the ladies at Krista's garden party. Also, Hilda made friends in Johanna, Katarina and Gretchen—they discussed different topics such as current events, their educations, and their interests. The three young women were amazed by Hilda's opinions on the Vietnam War and how things should have played out—they all felt she was correct and reasoned in her views.

After all of the guests left, Mathilde came out the garden and helped clean up any empty wine glasses or any of the porcelain plates used to hold biscuits or small cakes that were served to the ladies. Hilda and Mathilde both washed the small saucers, but she noticed a fatigued look on Mathilde's face—Hilda could easily see she was still intimidated by Erna's unruly behavior.

"Mathilde, are you alright?" Hilda asked. The maid looked at her as she used a towel to dry off a wine glass.

"Well," she sighed. "It's kind of sad how people treat me. I haven't always been treated as well as you treat me, Hilda. I'm thankful for that."

"Erwähnen Sie es nicht," the blonde woman answered. "I knew Erna was a bitch from the start." The two laughed at her statement, and for this Mathilde felt much better.

Hilda giggled wildly as she took a towel and folded it, putting it on her head in order to imitate Erna. She straightened her back and pranced about the kitchen in an as exaggerated manner as she saw the unruly, pretentious young woman to carry herself. Mathilde put the wine glass down on the counter with the others she had cleaned and looked at her friend with confusion. She started to giggle.

"Was tun Sie?" the maid asked, smiling with delight of Hilda's impression of Erna.

"Schauen Sie auf mich. Ich bin Erna Faltermeyer, die snobistische Tochter eines Delegierten. Ich bin ein Weibchen, das denkt, dass sie über jedem ist. Schauen Sie auf mich!" Hilda said, continuing to prance about with her nose in the air as she tried her best to mimic Erna's pretentious-sounding tone of voice as she had heard at the party just hours before. Mathilde laughed hysterically at her impersonation, and Hilda kept on continuing until the towel fell off her head and onto a clean wine glass that stood near the edge of the counter. The folded towel landed in such a way that one of the glasses fell off and smashed on the floor. Hilda and the maid looked down at the small mess of scattered glass and started to laugh as they bent down to pick it up.

"That was hilarious!" Mathilde told her, gathering the pieces carefully and throwing them in the garbage can near the door. Suddenly, Ludwig came into the room with a solemn expression on his face, looking down as Hilda gathered the remaining pieces of glass from the floor.

"What is going on? I heard glass shattering," he asked in his deep, manly voice.

"Don't worry, Herr Bielschmidt," Mathilde said. "It was only one glass; it fell on the floor."

"Why did it break?" Ludwig asked.

"It was my fault, dad," Hilda said, trying to keep her friend out of trouble. "I was playing around."

"Don't do that," he ordered strictly.

"I'm sorry," she told him.

"How was the party?" Ludwig asked. "I heard shouting for the living room. Your brother did as well."

Hilda raised her eyebrows, and both she and Mathilde glanced at each other wondering what to say to Ludwig. How would he react if she had gotten into an argument with Erna, another young woman of high societal standing?

"Well? Are you going to answer me?" Ludwig asked, getting impatient as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was holding a newspaper in his right hand.

"Dad, this girl named…Erna Faltermeyer, she is the daughter of mom's friend. She was mean to Mathilde today," Hilda answered nervously, somewhat intimidated by her father's growing impatience.

"Why?" her father asked, growing calmer as he looked at the maid.

"Well…I accidentally…tipped the tray onto her dress and it got stained, so she was about to…I don't know, attack me, I suppose. Hilda stepped in and stood up for me," she told Ludwig calmly, still remembering the unpleasant thoughts of Erna's rudeness.

"It…wasn't a fist fight, was it?" Ludwig asked, looking at his daughter. Hilda shook her head slowly.

"Nein," she sighed. "She was also kind of rude before that as well, but I controlled myself. Once I saw Mathilde being slowly charged by Erna, I knew that I had to do something about it even if it meant drawing attention to myself." Hilda placed an arm around the maid's shoulders. "She's my friend, and I don't want her being treated badly by anybody." Ludwig looked at her, and placed his arms to his sides.

"Good," he said calmly. "Watching two girls fight is like watching two cats fight over a mouse. It is never pleasant, nor is it very becoming for a lady."

"I…I understand, dad," she told him.

"Hilda, I wanted to tell you something else while I was out here," he began.

"What…is it?" she asked, noticing that his countenance was blank, but solemn as it always was. He sighed and opened the newspaper, trying to find a certain section. She looked at him as he grunted with anguish.

"Dad, what is it?" she asked.

"It's Elsa," Ludwig sighed gravely. "She…she passed away."


	7. Chapter 7

Hilda gasped, her jaw dropping in shock from the sad news. As old-fashioned as she was, Elsa was still the most important woman in her life, practically raising her with the same strong cultural upbringing as she had and making it so that German was her first language, in accordance to Ludwig's wishes. Even though Krista was her biological mother, Elsa was like her real mother—she had been there for her, clothed her, fed her, bathed her, and provided at least some emotional support for when she needed it. Hilda noticed as her father's face remained solemn—he was not the kind of man to cry even if he was alone. His clear blue eyes watched as hers were gradually submerged in tears.

"Are you certain?" she asked, her voice cracking as she was on the verge of crying. "How did you find out?"

"It was in here; in the newspaper," Ludwig sighed sadly, his place on the obituaries page as he handed it to his daughter. Hilda took it and scrolled through the names of the recently deceased to read the following:

"_Elsa Krueger-Schweitzer, 75_

_Former Berlin resident Elsa Krueger-Schweitzer, 75, has died peacefully of natural causes in her home surrounded by family. Born on January 12, 1890, Elsa was a strong, determined spirit who served as a nurse in the Red Cross, where she had met her husband, the late Wilfried Schweitzer, a captain in the German army. The two settled in Berlin shortly after their wedding, and they had five children. After becoming a widow, Elsa began to work in domestic service as a nanny._

_ Elsa is survived by her son Gottfried Schweitzer, her daughter Ute Hendler, as well as many grandchildren. She is preceded in death by her husband, the late Captain Wilfried Schweitzer, and her sons Ernst, Rudolf, and Sebastian Schweitzer, who served in World War II and died on the Western front. A memorial service will be held at the Evangelische Kirche in Berlin on July 3__rd_."

Hilda's lower lip trembled as she read the death notice. Her sad, light blue eyes looked up at her father, whose eyes were closed in the same solemn, emotionless expression. Tossing the newspaper aside, she ran toward her father and wrapped her arms around him tightly, crying into his chest heavily. His arms didn't even bother to hold her or console her—since he was not a very compassionate man, Ludwig had no idea how to deal with his daughter's despair. He looked down at her as her wailing turned to quiet sobs and whimpers. Mathilde stared at her friend curiously; she was told about Elsa, but had no idea why exactly she had such a big impact on Hilda's life.

"Das ist ein Tag von der Hölle," she muttered, her delicate, sad face still buried in her father's strong chest. Ludwig placed his hands on her back, trying to comfort her; he hated to see her upset, but it was another story if he didn't know how to deal with it.

"Hilda, she was very old," he reminded her, still expressionless in face and voice. "I know she meant a lot to you, leibling, but now, she is…gone."

Her great blue eyes, reddened by her flowing tears, looked up at his with great misery and grief. Now, she was clutching tightly on his dress shirt, wrinkling it significantly as she wailed and sobbed continuously. Ludwig patted her head, but it didn't prompt her to let go.

"I can't believe it," she wailed. "I thought she'd live for much longer. God, why did you take her so soon?!"

"She was old, liebling," Ludwig said, calmer than before. "It was her time to move on."

Mathilde walked closer to her friend, and once she felt her presence, Hilda let go of her father's shirt and held the maid close as she sobbed on her shoulder. The maid returned the hug, smoothing her hair to console her. Upon hearing her cry from the other room, Krista and Heinrich came in—the little boy ran to his sister and the maid, tugging at Hilda's skirt curiously.

"Are you alright?" he asked in his sweet voice. Krista looked down at her son, gesturing him to go in the other room—she spoke Dutch to him, and he understand it even clearer than Hilda had. He walked out, but Krista looked at her daughter with deep concern as she was consoled by the maid. Then her eyes turned to Ludwig, whose face was cold and expressionless. She tapped Mathilde's shoulder, and she looked back at Krista, wondering what she wanted.

"Will you take her out to the living room? I'll be there in a moment for Hilda, but I need to speak with my husband privately," she said politely.

Nodding, Mathilde escorted the grieving young woman to the dining room, leaving Krista and Ludwig alone in the kitchen with their work nearly finished. The woman turned, her demonic eyes gleaming red at Ludwig—how could he be so unfeeling toward their daughter? Approaching him slowly, she stared up into his light blue eyes and shook her head.

"What?" he asked with his eyebrows raised, wondering why she looked at him with way she did. She took a deep breath, trying to be calm enough to not provoke Ludwig's fierce anger.

"I heard what happened out here," Krista said, continuing to gaze into his eyes. "I can't believe that you would say such a thing to Hilda after she lost somebody important in her life."

"What are you talking about?" Ludwig snapped. "Get to the point!"

"You know what I'm talking about, Ludwig! You just passed off Elsa's death as if it were 'going to happen anyways' without _any_ regard to our daughter's feelings," she told him with passionate disapproval. "You should be ashamed."

"Excuse me? Ashamed?" he asked, moving closer to her with anger in his expression. "Elsa was an old woman, Krista! Everybody meets their end at some point, and it's usually at the point when they are old that you should not cry about it!" Ludwig responded coldly.

Her jaw dropped as her irises went from black with red tints to fully red—she was so upset how cold her husband could be in certain situations. Her eyebrows came closer as she continued to shake her head. She wanted nothing more than to hit him, but she knew that doing so would only provoke him to hurt her even worse.

"I don't believe you, Ludwig," she said in shock, almost a whisper. "You have no heart."

"_I_ have no heart?" he asked, pointing at himself as his anger grew significantly. "You're telling _me_ that after _I_ was the one who took our child in to raise her because _you_ couldn't? After I trusted you enough to marry you even though I _knew_ you were a whore?" Krista's jaw dropped, looking at him steadily with her demonic red eyes. How dare he say that her even after she had made such huge life changes?

"How _dare_ you?" she growled. Ludwig walked closer to her and stared down at her—Krista knew that her husband was heated from his fiery temper. Then his eyes widened with an indescribable form of shock; what did he just let slip from his lips?

"I am really sorry," he said, realizing he had hurt Krista. "You have been cured of your whoredom since marrying me."

He tried to hold her, but she pushed him away, frustrated with his heartless insult. Krista was so insulted by him that her eyes changed from red to fire within seconds. Ludwig looked down at her and tried to apologize, but she refused to listen to him or even acknowledge that he was there.

"I'm sorry, Krista," he told her, calmly and sincerely as his temper cooled down. "I just—"

"Ludwig, I am just as ashamed of my past as you are," she said, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"I'm not ashamed of you," he said to reassure her.

"No, I know you do, Ludwig!" she shouted back. "It's evident that you view it that way."

"Nein!" he protested. "Ich liebe dich! I really do, Krista!"

"No, you don't," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Ludwig wrapped his strong arms around his wife lovingly, holding her tightly against him.

"Krista, you don't know how much I had thought of you during all those years of you being away," he told her in a fiercely passionate whisper. "I thought I would never see you again. I thought that night together would be the only one, but when we went to Amsterdam that summer, I had _no idea_ my life would be brighter again."

She looked up at him, her eyes returning to their normal, calm state and usual black color. Resting her head against his firm, sculpted chest, she sighed and let any remaining tears fall down.

"I'm so sorry I called you that," Ludwig said, "and I am really sorry for being insensitive toward our daughter."

"I forgive you," she told him, closing her eyes with a sigh. "I love you, Ludwig."

"Ich liebe dich auch," he responded.


	8. Chapter 8

The third of July was the perfect day for a funeral service—it was raining, though not as heavily as it looked when Hilda woke up and stared out her window. It was also so cloudy that the day was dark, and when Mathilde opened Hilda's bedroom door slowly, she could see the young woman with her palm against the cold, cloudy windowpane. Her great, clear blue eyes stared out at the continuously falling raindrops morosely, thinking about Elsa's passing. On a side note, Hilda hadn't exchanged letters with the old woman a month before her death, but she had no idea that she was declining to expiration.

The maid stepped in her room and stood primly, looking at her friend as she heard her sigh sadly. Her arms crossed over herself, against the cool, white silky fabric of her nightgown which was long enough to cover her thighs enough to show her knees. Her light blonde hair was disheveled from restless sleep, but it made her look times more attractive and perhaps more wild. The maid finally walked up to her, and upon feeling her presence, Hilda turned and looked into her blue-green eyes.

"Did you just wake up?" Mathilde asked in a gentle, calming voice. Hilda nodded slowly, looking down at her nightgown.

"Ja," she answered.

"Sollten Sie sich nicht für das Begräbnis bereitmachen?" Mathilde suggested, walking over to the wardrobe, opening the wooden doors to pull out two hangers with clothes on them that were supposed to form a black skirt suit. Hilda looked back and frowned—she hated wearing black and she hated funerals. Sighing sadly, she walked behind her dressing screen slowly and removed her nightgown, throwing it over the divider just before putting on a new pair of panties and her bra. Her stockings came next before putting on the black skirt with a white blouse to go under the jacket that matched her skirt. As she buttoned it, she realized that the last button, lying on the peak of her large bosom, could not be fastened. Even if she tried, it just sprung back to it original position.

"Is everything alright?" Mathilde asked, hearing her struggling grunts.

"Ich hasse groß angekämpft zu sein," she said, letting go of the button and corresponding hole to let Mathilde try to fasten it. After trying for two minutes straight, she gave up and realized that she really didn't need that extra button fastened—she looked perfect as is.

"Come," she said, taking her hand to lead her to her vanity table. "Ich werde Ihr Haar bürsten."

Hilda sat down, giving her maid the hairbrush and some pins to put it all into a simple bun. As the teeth ran through her hair to neaten it, the young woman applied her makeup, but even improving her appearance didn't make her look any happier. Once she was all ready, Hilda opened the top drawer, taking out a medium-sized black velvet box and flipping the cover up. Within was a simple silver cross on a chain with a tiny diamond at the intersection of the lines making up the religious symbol. Remembering the day she had received it from Elsa, she also recalled her to be a very religious Lutheran who, ironically, didn't make her go to church every Sunday as a child but made her read several passages per day from the Bible. Sighing at the cross, she took it out and put it around her neck—it was a beautiful touch to such a seemingly simple, conservative ensemble.

"I am going with you and your family to pay my respects," Mathilde said. Hilda had already known before hand due to the fact that she had come into her bedroom wearing a simple black dress with matching black shoes, nude stockings, and pearls around her neck.

"Danke," she told her friend, hugging her tightly.

Ludwig, Krista, Hilda, Heinrich, and Mathilde all arrived to Berlin's Evangelische Kirche, a large but modest establishment on the more quaint outskirts of the city. Just outside were a few cars parked of those paying their respects, and there was a large, ornate hearse with chrome adornments near the back door. The only one wearing a hat out of the women was Krista—it had a small veil covering her satanically dark eyes, but it matched her knee-length, long-sleeved dress perfectly, but did a good job at hiding her cherry red hair.

Upon entering the church, Hilda gasped at the sight of nearly every pew taken up by people clad in black. She saw the pastor consoling a heavily sobbing woman who wailed louder than a banshee—Hilda had a feeling that she was either related to Elsa or she was helped in some way by her when she was alive. Mathilde noticed there was an empty pew in the middle of the church, and she led Ludwig, Krista, Hilda and Heinrich directly to it, making their way through several people on their way there. Soon after sitting, Heinrich looked up at his father, whose face was solemn and staid; one could obviously tell that he was sad even though he refused to show it.

"Dad, who was Elsa?" he asked, his face as serious as his fathers. Ludwig looked down at his son and sighed.

"She was in the family long before you were born, Heinrich," he told him. The little boy was still confused.

"Is she an aunt?" Heinrich questioned.

"Nein, she was Hilda's nanny," Ludwig told him in a straightforward tone of voice. "She helped us a lot when Hilda was your age. She was a good woman, and she retired when you were just a baby."

Everybody in the pews fell silent as the pastor began to conduct the rite. It was right then and there that Hilda noticed Elsa's closed coffin near the pastor's podium, surrounded by all kinds of beautiful white flowers arranged just for the service. Everyone watched the pastor as he spoke—his tone was calm and reverent, so much that several attendants cried and wept for their recent loss.

"Elsa Krueger-Schweitzer was born on January 12th, 1890," he began. "She spent most of her childhood in Berlin, and during her young adulthood, she served as a nurse for the Red Cross during World War I. She married Captain Wilfried Schweitzer and after settling in Berlin, they had five children; Ernst, Rudolf, Sebastian, Ute, and Gottfried. Their three eldest sons served in World War II, and they died fighting on the Western front in France. The Second World War also left Elsa a widow—Captain Schweitzer was killed in action while fighting in Russia. Now, I will conduct us in prayer for Elsa's soul."

Hilda felt tears stream down her face, but she refused to cry in front of everyone like she had. She took her handkerchief briskly out of her breast pocket and wiped her eyes quickly. The funeral service lasted for about a half hour in the church, but when Hilda, her family, and Mathilde, walked out into the heavier-pouring rain, things got even sadder. The young woman found herself sobbing as a few strong men carried Elsa's coffin to her grave, and the sound of it being lowered into the ground disturbed everybody, especially Elsa's remaining children and her grandchildren, all of whom were present. The pastor, who had led the procession to the cemetery, opened his Bible and read in a monotone, powerful voice as funeral attendants threw flowers into Elsa's final resting place.

"Und ob ich schon wanderte im finstern Tal, fürchte ich kein Unglück; denn du bist bei mir, dein Stecken und dein Stab trösten mich," he read, speaking over the noisily falling rain and the weeping mourners. After Hilda threw her flower in, she joined her mother by weeping excessively as they were both held in Ludwig's strong arms. Heinrich stood there, staring as the final flowers were thrown before the diggers piled dirt on top of the coffin. The pastor finished speaking, and followed the attendants out of the cemetery.

A reception to celebrate Elsa's long, well-lived life was held in a hall that was simple but did the trick. There were tables reserved for Elsa's family and close friends, and once the Bielschmidt family and their maid came to the entrance of the hall, a man looked at the guest list to see if they were at a reserved table. The man nodded and pointed at one of the reserved tables, where members of the Schweitzer family were sitting, either crying or talking to each other. Ludwig and Hilda entered, but the man stopped Krista, Heinrich and Mathilde before they could even step foot over the threshold.

"You are not permitted to sit at the reserved tables," he said to all of them.

"How come, sir?" Krista asked. "Ludwig is my husband, and Hilda is our daughter."

"The Schweitzer family only wanted Herr Bielschmidt and his daughter at the reserved tables, frau," the man told her.

"Nein, we did not," a voice said.

Ludwig looked back, as did Hilda, at a man as tall as he was, but he was much lankier. He looked to be about Ludwig's age, and he had salt-and-pepper graying, thinning hair and familiar gray eyes. The man holding the list looked back at the one who had contradicted him. Walking up to Ludwig and his daughter, the man looked at him with a straight face.

"Are you Herr Bielschmidt?" he asked.

"Ja. Who are you?" Ludwig questioned.

"I am Herr Schweitzer, but please call me Gottfried," he asked. "Elsa was my mother, and she has told me much about you."

"She has?" he asked.

"Ja," he answered, his eyes fixed on Hilda.

He approached her slowly and stood in front of her, admiring her amazing beauty. Her blonde bun was damp from the rain, as were her clothes, but what caught his attention the most was her angelic, delicate face composed of great light blue eyes, a small nose and mouth, and pure, fair skin tinted by light pink blush. Her prominent, sizeable bosom could easily be seen in the top of her ensemble. Hilda's eyes were still somewhat red from crying, but her looks still charmed the man.

"My mother had told me much about you as well, my dear," Gottfried said, smiling sadly at her out of pity for their losses. Hilda looked at him and tried to force a smile.

"Oh?" The young woman was confused—sure, this was Elsa's only surviving son, but why did he seem so attracted to her? _Nein_, she thought in her head as she continued to force the smile, _he is much too old for me_.

"Mein gott, you look just like your father!" he said with joy, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Your eyes, your hair—so beautiful. You've grown so much." His attention diverted to Ludwig and the man holding Krista, Heinrich and Mathilde and gestured him away from them. "Please, frau. Feel free to sit with your husband and daughter. I am so sorry for the trouble."

"It's alright," Krista answered. Gottfried's attention turned to Hilda again, smiling at her.

"What is your name, fraulein?" he asked, their eyes meeting awkwardly.

"Ich bin Hilda," she answered.

"What a pleasure to meet such a fine young lady," he said, shaking her hand lightly. He walked over to the little boy, who stared up at him with a jovial grin.

"I am Heinrich," he told him, introducing himself as he raised his hand up to shake Gottfried's.

"Is this your son, Herr Bielschmidt?" he asked.

"Ja," Ludwig answered.

"I see the resemblance! He looks just like you!" Gottfried shook his small hand; for a six year old boy, his grip was very firm.

"Es ist ein Vergnügen, Sie zu treffen," the little boy said.

"Und zu Ihnen," Gottfried replied, looking at Krista with his eyes widened—he was so shocked to see a woman with naturally bright red hair like she had with black eyes.

"You must be Frau Bielschmidt," he said, taking her hand to shake it gently.

"Yes, I am. It is a pleasure to meet you," she replied. Gottfried looked at Mathilde and took her hand, shaking it gently—she definitely looked different from the rest due to her darker hair and blue green eyes.

"Is this your other daughter, Ludwig? I didn't know you had another," Gottfried asked.

"Nein, she is our maid," Ludwig told him. Gottfried raised his eyebrows and looked

"What is your name?" the man asked.

"Ich bin Mathilde," she answered, looking into his eyes. "I came to pay my respects to your family, Herr Schweitzer."

"What a kind gesture, fraulein," he said politely, taking her arm into his as he escorted them to the table where his wife, sister, children, nephews, and nieces sat. Most of them looked similar with either blond or light brown hair with gray or blue eyes. All of them were clad in black, and some of their eyes were red and puffy from crying. Looking up at the tall, blond, handsome man and his family with their maid, their moods were brightened, especially after they noticed how angelically beautiful his daughter was.

"Herr Bielschmidt and family," Gottfried said, gesturing to his family members. "This here is my family. This is my wife Gretel, my daughter Viktoria, my son Wilmer, my sister Ute, my nephews Arnulf, Hans, Luther, and Reinhard, and here are my nieces Lotte, Birgit, Brunhilde, Erika and Gerda."

Everybody introduced themselves to each other and greeted one another accordingly. All of Gottfried's nephews were between Hilda's age and thirty, but one really stuck out to her in a very positive way. He approached her, getting up from his seat at the table to greet the young woman.

"Ich bin Hans," he told her with a flirtatious smirk. "It's so nice to meet you."

Hans looked like Ludwig's idea of the typical German—he had blond hair with a grayish tint to his enigmatic blue eyes. He seemed to be very well-built, even though his tall frame was concealed by a black suit. He had chiseled features, adding to the intense magnetism that seemed to attract Hilda at an instant. _Nein_, she thought to herself, _no matter how handsome this guy is, my heart belongs to Emilio_.

"Come," he ordered kindly. "Sit with my family."


	9. Chapter 9

Hilda nodded and did as Hans told her, even though it was not a direct, hard-and-fast order. _He is only trying to be polite_, she thought, _how bad could it possibly be?_ The rest of her family also took seats among the Schweitzer family, which seemed to divide them all up by gender and age group; Ludwig was with Gottfried, Arnuf, Luther and Reinhard, Krista was seated next to Gretel, Lotte, Birgit, Brunhilde, Erika and Gerda, Heinrich was socializing with Viktoria and Wilmer—all of these combinations gave Hans to get to know the beautiful young woman who had caught his eye. Drinking some of the beer from his glass, his gray-blue eyes admired Hilda's angelic beauty—he somehow believed he was stuck in a dream.

Most of the women in Germany he had met before were rugged both on the inside and out, but Hilda was different. She had a gentle, somewhat shy demeanor with beauty to match—light blonde hair in a bun, large light blue eyes with a distinct sparkle, small nose, delicate mouth, and beautiful, feminine curves resembling her mother's. Upon seeing that he didn't have any kind of refreshment, he tapped her shoulder gently, and their eyes met, making his heart flutter as though it had delicate butterfly wings.

"You don't have a drink, fraulein," Hans said politely. "Would you like for me to get you anything?" She looked at him, captivated by his good looks, and smiled warmly.

"That's kind of you," she said.

"What would you like? The waiter is coming in here soon to set up the buffet table," Hans told her.

"I'd like some wine," Hilda answered, moving a blonde tress away from her forehead.

"Do you like…French wine?" he asked, raising his eyebrow playfully. Hilda smiled at him—how did he know that?

"Ja, I most certainly do! It's my favorite! How did you know?" she asked. She watched as Hans took a few Deutsch marks out of the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket as the waiter came by. He made the request before answering Hilda.

"My grandmother told me," Hans revealed.

"Elsa was your grandmother?" Hilda asked.

"Ja, she was," he said with a sad sigh. "How did you know her?"

"She was…my nanny and my maid when I was a child," she told him, trying to be discreet as to why she was really in her life. "I…had known her for a lot of my life."

"Oh?"

"Ja, it is a hard story to tell to most people, but she was very important to me," Hilda continued.

"I didn't see her that much in the time leading up to her death, but when I was a child, we had tons of times together," Hans told her, looking down into his beer. He transferred his attention toward Hilda. "What is your favorite memory with my grandmother?"

"I am unsure," she answered, her mind in deep thought. "I suppose it was when we gardened together at…my house. We were redoing the garden and planting."

"Ah, that is very nice to hear," Hans said. "I remember exchanging letters every now and then with her when she was living in the house of the former lieutenant general…wait a moment. Your father was…the lieutenant general?"

"Ja, he was," Hilda said with a shy smile as the waiter placed her glass of wine on the table in front of her. Taking it by the stem, she took a delicate sip, but then looked at Hans, whose eyes remained on her with subtle adoration. She could feel her heart melt into a puddle of blood in her chest.

"It only makes sense," he told her with a closed, playful smile.

"She lived with my family for a long time," Hilda repeated. "She retired after my little brother was born."

"You have a brother?" he asked, shortly after taking a sip of his beer.

"Ja, his name is Heinrich. He is with those children over there," she told him. He looked over and saw the handsome little boy laughing and playing with Viktoria and Wilmer. He laughed heartily and took another sip of his beer.

"He is with my two cousins," he said with a smile. "They seem to be getting along very well."

"Ja," Hilda said, her face growing fatigued as she drank from her glass. Hans looked at her curiously before making more small talk—he needed to befriend her; she was so beautiful.

"Elsa also told me how beautifully you play music," he told her. "Do you play the piano?"

"Ja, I do," Hilda said. "However, my studies have delayed my practice."

"You don't say. I do as well," Hans said, his voice turning conceited. "And I play _very_ well." His communication was so subtle she didn't notice his egotism, but nevertheless, she smiled at him; in fact, she kind of felt comfortable and relaxed around this young man.

"I have played since I was a child," Hilda responded kindly, looking down into the scarlet reflection in her wine glass.

"Who taught you?" Hans asked, touching her arm gently. She gasped upon feeling his touch and looked up at him blankly.

"My father's friend, Roderich, is from Austria. He is an accomplished musician and he taught me everything he knew," she told him. "My father paid him a good amount of money to teach me."

"That's…beautiful," he told her. "I would love to hear you play sometime. You seem to have a good ear for music."

"You would?" she asked, a sudden spark of joy bursting inside of her. It was so good to meet a man who had the same talents as she—he was so different from Emilio, but she knew in her heart that it was in her best interest to remain faithful to the Italian no matter how handsome or musically talented this German was.

"Ja, I would. I bet your music sounds as beautiful as you look," Hans said with a playful, flirtatious smirk.

Hilda ran out of words to say to this friendly stranger. In her mind, all it seemed to be was a simple compliment and one she received quite often from family and friends alike. Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink as she looked away from the magnetic, alluring German and down into her scarlet reflection in the wine glass.

"Danke," she said quietly. "I am very flattered." Hans took a deep breath, looking at the angelic beauty sitting next to him. Though a very irrational feeling, he could feel himself melt inside—they hadn't known each other for more than five minutes, and he was becoming enamored with her.

"Do you play any other instruments besides the piano?" he asked.

"Nein. Do you?" Hilda asked, looking discreetly over at Hans, who smiled at her responding question.

"Ja, the violin," he told her. "I wonder how my violin skills would sound with your piano music. I bet the sound will be magnificent."

_Magnificent_, she thought as she listened to the music that had already begun to fill the air. Off the top of her head, Hilda knew every piece on the piano that there was and how to play it, but only this tune was different. She looked back and saw an old mustachioed man tickling the ivories to produce a gentle, calming sound, but it had no set tune. Perhaps it was improvised to sound cheerful for the mourners? Maybe it was one composed piece of many that the pianist had written? The young woman imagined herself and Hans in a peaceful reverie, playing music as beautiful as he had described together. Meanwhile, Hans noticed Hilda's vigilance; however, he saw her imagination through her great blue eyes.

"I will be honest and admit that the pianist over there looks as though he is about to fall asleep," Hans said, breaking the silence between them. "Do you think they have a replacement?"

"Ja, perhaps. If they do, then they will be paid a lot of money, I assume," Hilda said, sipping her glass as their eyes faced each others—hers were expressionless, while his were so full of wonderful feelings.

For the rest of the reception, Hilda and Hans got acquainted with one another, talking about politics, current events, their schooling, and of course, music. As for Ludwig, he was satisfied once he noticed how the young man was so keen on his daughter. At least it seemed that way, and he knew for sure that he would much rather have his daughter marry a German than marry someone like Emilio.

Time passed so it was later that evening—the Bielschmidts had settled in and changed into brighter, everyday clothes from their dark funeral outfits. Mathilde was cooking dinner, and Hilda was in with her to help. Tonight, she was cooking something totally different from what they usually ate; Jäger-Schnitzel, which was veal smeared with a creamy mushroom sauce, and they had prepared other vegetables to go with the evening's meal, like roasted potatoes and onions.

Just as supper was being served, there was a knock at the door. Hilda was just preparing each dish as the knock was heard, but before Mathilde could answer the door herself, she dropped what she was doing and sprinted toward the front door.

"It's alright. I'll get it," Hilda said. "You go and finish serving the meal." When she approached the door, she straightened out the skirt on her dress and reached for the doorknob, her jaw dropping with surprise, for no one but Feliciano and Emilio standing there.

"Buona sera, Hilda!" Feliciano said, hugging the smiling young woman.

"A te, Feli! Come stai?" she squealed, letting him go.

Her eyes turned to Emilio, whose eyes smiled down at her. He was still so handsome, even though she had her other friend on her mind. His dark brown hair with the prominent Vargas curl shone in the illumination of street lights, and his amber stare pierced her amorously. He moved closer and caressed Hilda's smooth, white cheek with careful endearment.

"Oh, sei bella stasera, Hilda. Sei siempre bellissima," he told her as he leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek. She looked down and saw that he was holding a bottle of Italian wine—she had never tried any wine from his homeland, but she was more than willing to accept it if it were a gift.

"For you, my German princess," he told her, handing her the bottle of wine shortly after handing her a bottle of her favorite French wine. Her great blue eyes smiled up at him, as did her lips, as she held the two bottles with gratitude.

"Thank you so much! How did you get these?" she asked as she let the two men in.

"I got one in Italy before coming up here, then there was a liquor store open tonight in the city so I bought a bottle of that French wine you like so much," Emilio told her. "You may have the French wine now, but later, I want to be alone with you so we can try some of that _vino italiano_."

Just then, Ludwig, Krista and Heinrich came out of the dining room to greet their unexpected, but always friendly guests. Feliciano's eyes widened as he saw Ludwig, and at an instant, he ran over and held him closely and tightly, letting him know just how much he missed him.

"Germany! Germany! I missed you!" he said excitedly as the tall German didn't return his hug.

"Hello, Italy," he said. "I didn't expect you to be visiting tonight. What brings you here?"

"We just wanted to visit, Germany! We always do, you know?" the Italian squealed, letting his friend go. "And look! I brought my nephew Emilio!"

Ludwig looked at Emilio, who was standing next to his daughter. Once he saw the Italian place an arm around her shoulder, he began to squirm—why hadn't she met Hans sooner? Why couldn't Elsa and he have a marriage arranged between her grandson and Hilda? All he knew was that Hans would probably be very hurt if he found out about Hilda's longtime lover.

"Hello, Signor Bielschmidt," he said politely.

"Please, do _not_ call me signor," Ludwig ordered rudely. Emilio's eyebrows raised, and he looked down at Hilda with confusion. She stared back up at him and sighed.

"Don't mind him," she reminded him. "Why don't you stay for dinner? Mathilde and I cooked up something very special."

The two Italians really enjoyed the Jäger-Schnitzel dinner shared with the Bielschmidt family. Hilda and Krista both were sipping on the French wine Emilio had brought for her as a gift, and the young woman knew that there was plenty to share with everybody. Ludwig, like always, refused the wine to drink some beer. However, when it was time for everyone to go to bed, Feliciano and Emilio were given a guest bedroom to sleep in which had two queen-sized beds to accommodate them. Then came the time for Emilio and Hilda to spend quality time together—prior to this, Mathilde promised to stick around in case the two lovers decided to do things they shouldn't have been doing, but because she was so tired, she went to her sleeping area upstairs, leaving them both alone with the bottle of Italian wine sitting on the coffee table with a corkscrew next to it.

The atmosphere was made to be romantic for the two of them—a few candles were lit, and despite the summer heat, a fire was lit in the hearth, providing just enough light for them to gaze into each other's eyes clearly. The Italian opened the bottle and poured some of the light green liquid into Hilda's empty, clean glass. Upon sipping it, she took a moment to savor the new, exotic flavor of this beverage—she liked it, but still preferred French wine over Italian wine.

"It is good?" Emilio asked.

"Ja, but I like French wine better, even still," she answered.

"I'll make sure to have plenty of Italian wine for you to get used to, then," he told her endearingly, preparing her for what he was planning to say. Hilda looked into his amber eyes, which seemed to glow from the bright embers of the candles and the fireplace. He leaned in and kissed her just after taking a sip from his own wine bottle and placing it gently on the table.

After placing hers down, Hilda wrapped her arms around his neck and held him closely as she fully returned his kiss. Emilio was still passionate after all the years she had known him, but in a more forbidden thought, she wondered if Hans would be the same way. _I'll probably never see him again_, she thought, _I can't let myself get attached to him. Besides, I love Emilio_. Their kissing led her to lie on her back as his kissing drove her even wilder. His tongue brushed against her lips, causing her to moan with anticipation as his lips trailed down to her neck gently.

"Emilio," she whispered, almost sighing as he kissed her neck sensually. His attention was immediately caught—he stared down into her eyes adoringly.

"Are you alright, mi amore?" he asked, caressing her cheek gently.

"Ja, but I don't think this is a very good idea right now," Hilda said as they sat back upright in their seats. Emilio moved closer to her and put his arms around her shoulder.

"Hilda, I would never take advantage of you," he told her solemnly. "I would never, _ever_ make you do something you didn't want to do. I am glad you told me not to do that just now. God only knows where it would have led."

"It's alright," she told him gently. "Don't apologize."

Hilda noticed subtle movements made by her lover, and it looked as though he were reaching into his pocket to find something in specific. The truth of the matter was that he was trying to find the ring he had shown his uncle that night where they had drank and bonded after dinner. Then, he held her hand, looking into her eyes endearingly.

"Hilda?" he whispered.

"Ja?" she asked.

"I want you to know how much I love you, and how much you make me happy. Ever since that day eight years ago, I have never felt so pleased with my life, nor have I ever experienced a love like I have with you," he explained, revealing the ring to Hilda. He held it up to her, and her eyes twinkled—she felt happy tears form in her eyes, but there were also tears of confusion; was she really ready for this?

"Hilda, ti arriverà in Italia con me?" he asked with a joyful smile, hoping for a positive response. "Vuoi sposarmi?"

She sighed tearfully as her hand was still held by Emilio's, but once he prepared to put the ring on the ring finger of her left hand, she pulled her hand away gently, placing it on her lap with the other. Emilio was confused. _She loves me_, he thought, _I know she does. Why is she rejecting my proposal_?

"Hilda, are you alright?" he asked. She sighed gently, taking another sip of her wine as she stared down into the flame of a candle burning on the table.

"Emilio, don't take this personally, but I am not ready for that kind of commitment yet," she told him with an uncertain look on her face. The Italian sighed, resting his elbow on his knee so that his chin was on his enclosed fist, in which the ring was being held firmly. He found himself staring into the fireplace in deep thought.

"Perché?" he asked solemnly in his natural Italian intonation. "Why don't you feel ready?"

"I…I don't know," she answered.

"Hilda, I love you," he told her, holding her close to him. "I understand if you don't want to get engaged just yet, but I will only accept those terms if I am the only man in the picture. Am I?"

Hilda answered with a loving embrace. In a way, there was another man who had only captured part of her heart, but she still didn't know if one's love would conquer the others.


	10. Chapter 10

A few days later, Hilda got up early and got dressed without the assistance of Mathilde, who usually brushed her hair or chose clothing for her to wear. After dressing in a fashionable yellow dress with a belt cinching the waist, Hilda brushed her hair and applied a small amount of the usual makeup before putting on a pair of shoes and heading out the door. As she walked away from her sizeable house, she felt a swift, summer breeze go through her loose blonde hair, but it didn't mess it up one bit. In fact, the breeze was so refreshing that she took a walk around the block before walking to the cemetery to visit Elsa's grave.

Of course, it was a strange behavior to talk to someone who was six feet underground beneath a tombstone, but to Hilda, it was like visiting her as though she were alive. The cemetery in which Elsa was buried was not that long of a distance, but when she entered, she looked around at all of the rows of gravestones that seemed to stare her in the face. It didn't scare her, but she felt a kind of relief upon her arrival at Elsa's resting place. There were still many bouquets of different kinds of flowers sitting on top of the fresh patch of soil used to bury the coffin.

"Guten tag, Elsa," she whispered, looking at the epitaph on her grave marker. "Ich habe Sie so viel vermisst. Ich wünsche, dass Sie zurückkommen würden."

The young woman felt a tear stream down her face, but it was as tough the wind wiped it before it could trail down her cheek any further. She sighed and continued, looking down at the rainbow of flowers atop Elsa's grave.

"Gott, warum nahmen Sie sie so bald?" she asked, louder than she had been as she looked up at the clear blue sky. "Ich weiß, dass niemand für immer, aber Gott lebt, könnten Sie mindestens ihren Aufenthalt auf der Erde seit noch ein paar Jahren gelassen haben. Vielleicht sogar mehr."

As she began crying softly, she felt a strange but somewhat familiar presence behind her. It wasn't the breeze, for this presence was that of a human. Turning around, she saw no one but Hans standing there with a bouquet of flowers to place on his grandmother's grave. He wasn't very close to her, but he watched her cry until he realized who it was.

"Hilda? Is that you?" he asked, walking closer to her to try and console her.

"Hallo," she said, wiping a tear away with her finger.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Hans asked as his eyebrow raised in shock. How could she have forgotten him?

"Nein, I remember you," she told him. "I just left early this morning to visit…Elsa's grave."

"I did, as well," he told her, holding up the flowers. "I stopped by a flower stall and just got something to put with all these other flowers." She nodded, watching him as he whispered a few words over the grave as he left the flowers on top of the others that had been sitting there for a few days. Hilda looked down at her feet, and felt Hans place his arm gently around her shoulders. He looked down at her, hoping to make eye contact with her great blue orbs, and once he did, he saw that they were a bit red but not puffy.

"Wischen Sie jene schönen blauen Augen," he said, hoping that his charming nature and flattery would cheer her up. Hilda wiped away any remaining tears and looked at him inquisitively.

Hans was a great mystery to her, and it was only logical to think that way because they had only known each other for a few days. From the way he looked at her with those magnetic blue-gray eyes to his overflowing of kindness, Hilda was still so intrigued by him. Also, she felt so relaxed and safe around him, and in a way, it was like being with Elsa all over again. For sure, she began to believe in a thought that was beyond all rationality—she had arranged fate from beyond the grave so that she could meet her grandson, a mysterious but handsome young man, who would always be there for her in one way or another. _Nein_, she thought, _be reasonable. There is no way in hell that could just happen_.

"Are you alright?" Hans asked, his deep voice full of concern. Hilda nodded slowly.

"Ja, I am fine," she told him. "I must go now." Hans' looked confused—he didn't want to be away from her.

"Hilda, I'll walk you home if you'd like," he offered kindly as she walked away.

"If you insist on doing so," she sighed with slight reluctance. It was only then that she realized she had sounded just as cold as her father did at times, so when Hans left the cemetery with Hilda, he looked at her curiously.

"You don't seem very happy to see me," he told her. "I know something is wrong. Don't tell me that you are perfectly fine. Something's wrong, isn't there, Hilda?" She looked and him and stopped walking, facing him with a blank countenance.

"Hans, I'm fine," she told him. "Believe me, I am. Thank you for your concern, though." They continued to walk, but Hans looked at her again, trying to make conversation with the beautiful young woman.

"I am having a birthday party next week, Hilda," he told her, sounding more cheerful than he had been. "I was hoping maybe you could come."

"Really?" she asked as her mood and eyes lit up. "How old will you be?"

"I'll be twenty-five," he told her with a smile. "I can hardly wait. My family usually has birthday parties every five years of their lives, except for me. I had one when I was eighteen, then another when I was twenty-one."

"What about your childhood? Did you have birthday parties as a child?" Hilda asked.

"Ja, but they weren't as big as the ones I had when I was older," Hans told her. "I bet you have had many, many parties besides birthdays."

"Nein," she sighed. "My biggest birthday parties were when I was sixteen, eighteen and twenty. I never really celebrated my birthday as a child, at least not in the way you would expect."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because, that's why," Hilda said with a somewhat cold tone in her voice. "I guess you can say my mother has had many garden parties during the spring and summer."

"Garden parties? I bet there are many people there every time," he assumed.

"Nein, just women; usually the wives or daughters of government or military officials. People of class, I guess is the word I can use," Hilda said. "I learned recently that not every girl in my standing is nice."

"What…happened?" Hans asked.

"Erna Faltermeyer—"

"Mein gott, I know her!" he exclaimed in shock. "She is _so_ mean! Her sister is actually kind of nice, though."

"Ja, I got along with her at the last garden party, but Erna almost got her face ripped off," Hilda said with a discreet chuckle, hiding the delight she would have taken in physically hurting the unruly young woman who went to her mother's garden party that day.

"If you don't mind me asking, what did she do?" Hans asked. Hilda looked around and saw that they were approaching her house, but she told him anyway.

"She and this other woman were being rude to my house-maid, who is my friend, and she was only trying to take orders from everyone, so Erna got up and lectured her as if she were a dog," Hilda explained. "Then, when Mathilde, my maid, brought the wine out, she accidentally tipped the tray on Erna and it went all over her dress. Erna got up again and was going to hurt Mathilde, but I stood up for my maid and she was about to attack me as well. Luckily, she was taken off our property."

"Mein gott, that's terrible!" Hans said as they approached the front of Hilda's home. He looked up and saw the magnificent house, marveling at its architecture and careful landscaping. It was close to being a mansion, but it only had to be a bit bigger to be so. The young man smiled at Hilda as they walked toward the front steps over the path made of stone slabs.

"What a beautiful house," Hans said, feasting his eyes on the magnificent exterior.

"Ja, we have lived here for a while," she said, opening the door as she stared back at him. "Would you like to come in, Hans?"

"Nein, not today," he said. "Maybe tomorrow? We can play music together, if you'd like."

"I'd like that," Hilda said with a smile.

"Also, my birthday party is next Saturday, the seventeenth," he told her. "If you can make it, let me know tomorrow."

"Danke, Hans," she said. "Auf wedersehen."

Hilda stepped into the house and closed the door behind her, noticing Ludwig, Krista, Feliciano and Emilio sitting on the couch in the living room, talking until they noticed Hilda stand in the doorway. Her father was the first to notice her standing there, and he gestured her to come over and sit in the empty spot on the sofa.

"Where were you? I just heard the front door close," he asked sternly, looking at his daughter as she sat down next to him.

"I was…at the cemetery," she answered. "I was only visiting Elsa's grave." Suddenly, she heard Feliciano whimper quietly as he sighed sadly.

"That is why we came here," the Italian said. "We knew how sad you were, mia bambalina. We came to console you and make you feel better."

"Si," Emilio added. "We know how much Elsa meant to you." Hilda smiled—he had always been so kind to her. Somehow she knew she had to tell Hans that she was already involved.

"That is very sweet of you both," she told them calmly. "Grazie."

"How long do you plan on staying with us?" Ludwig asked, looking at his Italian friend. Feliciano looked at him and smiled cheerfully.

"A few days, maybe? Why, Germany? Do you plan on rushing us out?" he asked. Ludwig shook his head as he received his cup of coffee from Mathilde, who was serving it to everyone in the living room.

"Nein, I was just wondering," the German told them. "I don't care if you stay here, but just try not to mess up my guest bedrooms."

"Will do!" Feliciano said, still in spirits that were higher than the clouds.

Meanwhile, Emilio looked at Hilda, wondering about the night they had shared earlier that week. He could distinctly remember asking her to marry him and come to Italy with him as his wife, but he still had no clue why she rejected him. Hilda had told him that she wasn't ready, but his intuition dictated otherwise—either there was another man in her life or she was really telling the truth. Nevertheless, he carried the engagement ring in his pocket until another time arose where she could be ready and willing to accept his advances.

A few hours later, Ludwig was busy refereeing his son as he worked out. The Bielschmidt household had a special spot in the basement where there were a few exercise machines and a bench-press, where Heinrich and his father worked out together everyday. Just before Heinrich's work-out session was over, Hilda walked down to find her father making him do push-ups with one hand supporting him and the other arm around his back. Sweat drenched his light grey tank top as he forced himself to push himself up and down.

"Noch neun Stöße! Sie können es, Sohn tun!" Ludwig said, getting on his knees as he began counting down the amount of single-armed pushups he had left.

"Ein, zwei, drei, vier..."

"Dad?" Hilda said, interrupting her father's counting. Heinrich stopped immediately upon looking up to see his sister, and he ran to her expecting a cookie pop out of view as she sometimes did. Hilda shook her head and pointed to the stairway.

"Go and get cleaned up, Heinrich," she ordered. "You're all sweaty."

"I want a cookie!" he begged, running around his older sister in a circle. Even though he was worked to oblivion by his father, he was still as energetic as always.

"Go upstairs and ask Mathilde for one. Only after you take your bath," she ordered. Ludwig rolled his eyes at his daughter, irritated by her interruption. Heinrich sped up the stairs, and once Hilda looked back at her father, she could see he was on the brink of anger.

"Hilda, you know better than to interrupt our training sessions," he told her with a grunt.

"I am sorry. Besides don't you think you have worked him enough into a frenzy?" she asked as they walked up the stairs to the main floor.

"Ja, I can only imagine the cookie he's going to eat making his hyperactivity much worse," he said, calming himself down. Once her father closed the door to the basement, Hilda tapped his shoulder, and he paid close attention to her.

"Dad, do you remember Hans from Elsa's funeral?" she asked. "That is her grandson."

"Ja, Hilda?" Ludwig asked, staring down into her identical light blue eyes.

"He is having a birthday party next Saturday, and he invited me to it," Hilda told him. "He was actually visiting Elsa's grave as well, so he asked me today if I could go."

"Ja, Hilda, you may go, but bring Mathilde with you," he ordered.

"Mathilde? I'm sorry, dad, I like her and all, but Hans doesn't know her," Hilda protested calmly. "He only asked for me to go."

Ludwig looked at his daughter, whose face was pleading. He felt it to be impossible to say no to those big blue eyes and her innocent-looking face. He nodded as he kept his eyes on her.

"Alright, you can go," he told her. "However, you can only have two drinks. Do you understand?"

"Why does it all of a sudden matter to you how much wine I drink, dad?" she asked, her eyebrows brought together in confusion.

"Because I have noticed how much you have been drinking in the past week or two, Hilda," he told her with a cold-sounding tone of voice. "First it was your mother's party, then it was the funeral, then it was with Emilio a few nights ago."

Hilda looked at her father, mortified about what he had said. How the hell would he have known about their candlelit night together in the living room drinking Italian wine and romancing each other with sweet nothings? Ludwig just kept a straight face.

"How would you know about that?" she asked. "He brought that wine as a gift."

"I know because I heard you and Emilio coming up the stairs late that night and kissing before you went to sleep," Ludwig told her honestly. "You didn't…sleep in the same bed with him, did you?" Hilda looked at him in shock—she was a grown woman; what right did he have to stick his nose in her business?

"No, I did _not_," she told him truthfully. "I went to my room, and he went to the guest room. I swear!"

"Alright, I believe you," her father told her. "I just don't want you to make any mistakes, alright?"

"Alright," she said as he left the room.

Unbeknownst to the two, Emilio was in the other room, and he took the liberty of hearing their conversation. He knew it wasn't right, but he knew that once he heard the name of another man that he should go and listen to what she was saying. Assuming it was the reason behind her rejection of his marriage proposal, Emilio could feel his heart start to break. _I knew it_, he thought. He grew nervous inside—he knew he had to do something about this.


	11. Chapter 11

Hans came the next day to Hilda's home, as he had promised. When there was a knock at the door, Mathilde answered it and marveled at the well-dressed young man. His blond hair had been cut the day prior and his gray-blue eyes drew Mathilde to him as well. On his tall, well-built frame was a dress shirt with ¾ sleeves, which somehow accentuated his muscular arms, and it was lightly tucked into a pair of khaki slacks fastened with a brown leather belt.

"Hallo? Who are you here for?" she said, greeting him courteously.

"I am here for Fraulein Bielschmidt," he said, staring at her beautiful, defined face. Mathilde smiled and gestured him in, closing the door before leading him to the parlor where Hilda sat on one of the soft, upholstered chairs.

"She is right here," she said. Hilda looked up, feeling Hans dramatic presence as much as she could see it. She stood up primly and he took both of her hands to greet her.

"Guten tag, Hilda," he told her in his deep voice. "How are you today?"

"I am well, danke," she answered.

Their eyes met in a tender gaze that lasted for a few long moments. Hilda's beauty shined through her eyes, and he could easily tell that she was happy to see him. Little did they know that Emilio was walking by the doorway and realized that the image of them holding hands and staring into each others was only in the corner of his eye, but he took a few steps back to reaffirm his thought—it was true! His suspicions were proven correct. He stood there, watching as his love held hands with another man—he was heartbroken. Mathilde looked back and noticed his pained facial expression and immediately got Hilda's attention. She looked over at her Italian lover, who stood there frozen from negative feelings.

"Oh, Emilio!" she said cheerfully. "I'd like for you to meet my new friend, Hans Schweitzer." Her attention went to Hans, who smiled at Emilio, trying to be friendly—little did he know that he wanted to kill Hans with his bare hands. Instead, he just looked at him angrily.

"Hallo, it's wonderful to meet you," he said, extending his hand. Emilio didn't respond to his kind gesture, but instead stared at Hilda odiously.

"Hans, Emilio is…actually, my boyfriend. He is from Italy," Hilda told him.

Hans gasped and his eyes widened. She felt so unattainable now that he knew she had already been involved with a man. Nevertheless, he smiled at Hilda, realizing what he would have to do to make her more than a friend.

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend," Hans said with surprise in his voice. Emilio kept staring at him as though he wanted to kill him, and once Hilda noticed this, she approached Emilio and looked at him inquisitively. His amber eyes looked so pained, and she could do nothing but feel bad for him.

"Emilio?" she whispered. "Are you alright?" He shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on Hilda. _How could she do this to me_, he asked himself.

"Why is he here?" he asked.

"We are going to play piano together," Hilda told him. "Is there something wrong?"

"We'll talk later," he told her sternly. "As for your piano playing, I'd like to be in here while you play. I've never heard you play before."

"You have never heard your girlfriend play before?" Hans asked, looking at Emilio, who still looked at him hatefully.

"I don't see her that much," he told the German, sounding bored out of his mind. Hans smiled inside as he sat down at the grand piano, playing a soft G chord with his left hand as he looked at Hilda, gesturing her to come and sit with him excitedly. Once she was seated, Emilio got even angrier—he could sense their good chemistry, and them ore he thought about it, the sicker he got.

"Will you play me something?" the German requested kindly, taking his hands off the keys. She nodded, and began playing a slow, beautiful melody that she had composed during her last year at the BenedicktAcademy. Hans was mesmerized by the sight of her delicate hands playing and the sound that came from the piano, whereas Emilio was cheered up somewhat by the sound, but in his heart, he felt as though she weren't playing it for him—it was as though she were playing it for Hans only. The German closed his eyes, but opened them periodically to watch the beautiful young woman recite her calming rhapsody, every note played precisely and swiftly. Once the song's tempo began to fade, Hans smiled at her kindly and nodded with approval.

"That was…beautiful," he said, wiping a tear before it could fall. "Who is the composer?"

"Well…I wrote that," she told him. "It was during my last year at the BenedicktAcademy."

"Mein gott, your music is magnificent," he told her, placing a hand to his heart. "I really am so touched. I felt the deep emotion within every note. What is it called?"

"I call it _Die sich Nähernde Nacht_," she whispered, almost sounding seductive. Emilio heard the tone in her voice, and remained miserable for the rest of the time that Hans was there visiting with Hilda.

Hans and Hilda later went into the living room to talk over coffee, served to them by Mathilde, who kept her friendly demeanor as she always. As she was walking back to the kitchen, Emilio came out of the parlor and stopped her, pulling her aside to talk to her.

"May I speak with you?" he asked.

"Ja," she responded. "I am Mathilde, in case you didn't know my name."

"Alright, Mathilde," he told her. "Hilda has mentioned you to be a close friend of hers, am I correct?"

"Ja," she answered.

"Has she mentioned anything about that…guy, she's with?" he questioned.

"Nein," she told him honestly. "She would have told me if she was seeing him, honestly. However, she does love you very much, Emilio." His heart was in his throat now—what had he been thinking all that time?

"She does?" he asked.

"Ja, she does. She tells me about how she misses you, but ever since meeting Hans in the other room, she hasn't said a word about you," Mathilde said, looking down at her clothing.

Letting her go to the kitchen, Emilio did some hard thinking until Hans left. He had been in the living room with them, and it disgusted him even more to see the German kiss his lover on the cheek. As soon as he walked out the door, he got up and grabbed Hilda's arm forcefully, taking her to the parlor where he had first seen them together.

"What is wrong with you, Emilio?" she asked, breaking free from his grip. "Why are you being—"

"Why, Hilda?!" he hissed. "You can't be serious! I saw you and that kraut holding hands earlier!"

"Emilio!" she cried, trying to prove her innocence.

"Was he the reason why you rejected my proposal?!" he asked angrily, grabbing her tight enough to make a red mark on her forearm. "WAS IT?"

"Nein! Nein! Nein!" Hilda shouted, beginning to cry out of fear of Emilio's anger. "I barely know Hans! We met at Elsa's funeral! We have only known each other for a few days, Emilio! Please believe me!"

Their verbal fight caught the attention of Krista, Heinrich, Feliciano, and Mathilde, causing them to stand outside of the doorway and overhear their argument obscurely.

"I can't believe you, Hilda," he said with disbelief, letting her arm go. "I love you so much. Why would you do this!?"

"Why would I do _what_, Emilio?! I did nothing wrong!" Hilda told him, her voice cracking from her cries. "I'm not in love with him, and I don't see why I should be. I love _you_, Emilio."

"_Merda_!" he shouted. "If you loved me that much, you would have accepted my proposal, and you would have come to Italy to visit me at least once or twice! You have done absolutely nothing! You never even showed me your piano playing. You only showed Hans!"

"He shares my interests, Emilio; you don't. I've never seen you pick up an instrument before in your life!" she argued.

"I've never seen you sit at a piano during our years together! Years! It's been years that we've been together!" he shouted. "You are so lucky I am not drunk right now. Maybe that woman I struck in the middle of the street once should have been you!"

After this statement, Hilda looked at him and began to sob as her father came in and stared at him coldly. He felt so angry and defensive of his daughter, so he just let the rage out on Emilio.

"What is going on?! Why are you screaming at her!?" he shouted. The Italian just shut up—he was so scared by his temper. Shaking his head, he looked at Hilda, who was crying and sobbing before him.

"Emilio, believe me! I love you!" she told him.

"Ah, what's the use?" he asked with a grunt. "My uncle and I are leaving anyways. I thought you were different from other German girls, but I was wrong."

"What is going on, Hilda?" he asked his daughter, calming himself down.

"Hans came over to play piano with me, and Emilio thinks that I am cheating on him just because Hans was the one who greeted me by holding my hands and saying goodbye with a kiss on the cheek," Hilda explained through wails. "I barely know Hans, and I don't love him. We are just friends, I swear it!" Ludwig looked over at Emilio harshly.

"Get out!" he ordered between his gritted teeth. "Who are you to accuse my daughter of something like that?"

"I'm not accusing her, I just know it!" he said, going upstairs to collect his things. Feliciano went with him, rushing up the stairs to try to make him believe the truth.

"Emilio! Emilio! Please don't make us leave!" he pleaded, whining as he held the back of his nephew's shirt.

"No, Uncle! We are leaving! Apparently she doesn't care about me!" he said, gathering his clothes hastily and sticking them into his suitcase.

"_Per piacere_! What happened?" Feliciano asked. "Tell me!"

"I proposed marriage to her a few nights ago, and she told me she wasn't ready," Emilio said, his face full of anguish. "The only reason she wasn't ready was because there is another man in her life! I knew it! She says he is a friend but I see the way they look at each other!"

"Emilio! Don't jump to conclusions," he said, trying to calm him down. "I heard her say he was just a friend. I know she really loves you."

"No, we are leaving! I don't even care anymore," he said, angry tears filling up his eyes as he clasped the suitcase closed. "She is a no-good whore, just like her mother."

With that, Emilio left with Feliciano, but Hilda kept on sobbing and crying from his unreasonable anger. Why hadn't he listened to her when she was telling the plain truth? Why did he all of a sudden care about her music when he had no interest in music himself? Things would only change, but what for—the better or worse?


	12. Chapter 12

Hilda's negative feelings carried on until the week after, and it was when she sat at her vanity table to get ready for Hans birthday party that she truly saw the sadness in her reflection. Peering closer into the mirror, she saw that her eyes looked morose and somewhat fatigued. Spending eight years with Emilio as her lover seemed tiresome all of a sudden, and because she knew that she had done nothing wrong, she didn't quite feel guilty or shameful. Hans was a very nice young man who had talents similar to hers, and he seemed to like her a lot. How could Emilio love her as much as he said he did and not trust her enough to have friends of the opposite gender?

Mathilde came in and closed the door gently behind her, walking toward the friend who sat sadly in the chair. Before Hilda could reach for her draws, the maid opened them for her and pulled out her makeup, tapping her shoulder lightly afterwards. The young woman sniffled and looked up at Mathilde with sad, vacant eyes.

"Cheer up," she told her. "You're going to have fun tonight!" The maid smiled at Hilda, who stared into her reflection in the mirror. Realizing she had failed to cheer her up, she crouched next to her, looking at her friend with pity.

"Are you still upset with Emilio?" she asked. Hilda nodded.

"I don't know how he can say he loves me but expects me to not do certain things," she told her. "I can't believe he actually thinks I would cheat on him after all of our years together."

"Hilda, I know you love Emilio," Mathilde told her, finally making eye contact with her friend. "I tried to talk to him yesterday. He actually pulled me aside to speak to me about that to see if I knew anything." Hilda pulled her eyebrows together and looked at Mathilde strangely.

"What did you tell him?" she questioned suspiciously.

"I told him that I had no idea that you and Hans knew each other," the maid responded. "If it makes you feel any better, I can go to the party with you so you are not alone."

"You would do that?" Hilda asked.

"Ja," she said, standing up and walking to the door. "I'll go get dressed in something nice and—"

"No need, Mathilde," Hilda said, holding her hairbrush. "Borrow something from my closet."

"Really?" the maid asked, looking at her strangely.

"Well, as long as they aren't _too_ big," Hilda told her. "I have to wear one size up due to obvious reasons."

"Oh," Mathilde said, keeping her eyes on Hilda. "I forgot about that."

"Ja, go get dressed in something your size," her friend said. "The party is in another half hour, so hustle."

As Mathilde sped out of the room, Hilda looked at her reflection as she brushed her soft blonde hair gently. It took about five minutes for the maid come back, and once Hilda heard the door close, she saw her stand there dressed in a peach-colored dress with a modest sequined bodice and a pleated chiffon skirt that came down to the knees. Her hair was not done, nor was her makeup, but she still looked very beautiful. Hilda, on the other hand, was already clad in a royal blue chiffon dress of a similar style, but it didn't have sequins and it had a dip of fabric on the neckline. The color looked beautiful with her hair color, and the dip of fabric accentuated the size of her bosom.

"That is very beautiful on you, Mathilde," she said as her friend walked toward her. She took the hairbrush from her hand and brushed Hilda's hair gently before she began on her makeup. Once the two were ready, the two left the house and into a cab for the address stated on the invitation given to Hilda.

They arrived at an old-fashioned blue house that looked to have only one floor, but it had white railing around the porch and bordering the stairs. Lights were on in the inside and the two young women could hear laughing and talking, as well as music and the sight of people going in and out of the quaint structure. The two women walked up the front steps to find Gottfried standing there with Hans, his nephew. Both men were dressed respectably in suits, and once they saw the two young women, the older man smiled and greeted them excitedly.

"Fraulein Bielschmidt! Fraulien Mathilde!" he squealed. "I am so happy you could come! Hans told me he invited you, Hilda, and I must be honest—I was so happy to hear that!"

"Ja?" Hilda answered. She was somewhat intimidated by him coming on too strong to a guest. Hans stepped forward and greeted her more casually than his uncle had.

"Guten abend, Hilda," he said, holding her hands as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. Hilda gasped upon feeling his lips brush her smooth cheek, but if he saw any pain in her face, then he was helping somewhat to make it go away. His eyes turned to Mathilde, remembering her from the week prior.

"I see you have brought a friend," he said, looking at Mathilde.

"Ja, this is my maid, Mathilde," Hilda said.

"We have met," Hans told her. "She actually let me into your house last week. You both look extraordinary tonight. Help yourselves to any drinks or refreshments."

Hilda and Mathilde walked in through the front door and stopped to look at everybody; men, women and a few children dressed in finery enjoying Hans' birthday festivities. The children ran around playing with each other, women gossiped and laughed, and the men stood talking casually but seriously. Mathilde stopped to look at her friend and she smiled—Hilda didn't look very amused.

"Hmm, looks like _somebody_ likes you," she told her with a chuckle.

"Ja," her friend answered morosely. Mathilde's expression went blank, looking at her with her eyebrows raised.

"Hey, why are you so sad? This is a party. We are going to have fun," the maid told her, placing her arms gently on Hilda's shoulders. "Speaking of which, where is the wine?"

"I am unsure," Hilda told her as she sat down on the empty part of the sofa.

The main room had blue pinstriped wallpaper with dark wood furniture and light green upholstery on the sofa and chairs. An archway across from the front door led to the living room, from which Hilda could see the fireplace burning brightly in the dark room. She could hear voices in the dark living room, but then she saw a small metal cart coming out with a large birthday cake, drinking flutes, and a champagne bottle. Candles were already lit on the cake, and there were twenty-five total sticking out of the creamy white frosting. In response to the loud cheering by the guests, Hans and Gottfried went into the house and walked toward the cake, which was placed in the center of the main room. A German version of "Happy Birthday" was sung by everyone, and when it came time for Hans to make a wish and blow out the candles, his eyes wandered his guests until he saw Hilda, whose great blue eyes looked at the large cake. Hans smiled, knowing what he wanted and blew out the candles in the single breath.

Next came the serving of champagne, and Gottfried took the liberty of popping the cork off the top, allowing off-white fluid to emanate from the glass bottle at an alarming rate. Hans poured the champagne into the flutes and took two—one for him, and the other for Hilda. Approaching her, she noticed his presence and looked at the drinking flute as he handed it to her.

"Would you like some champagne?" he offered.

"Ja, sure," she said, still morose from the events of the past week. She took a sip and took a few moments for her tongue to absorb the flavor. She actually liked it.

"There's cake over there, too, if you like vanilla," Hans told her.

"Nein, danke," she told him politely. It didn't take long for him to notice that she was sad and had been for the past week. Their eyes met, and Hilda could feel herself melting from his magnetic blue-gray stare.

"You don't seem like you're having fun," he told her. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, it's nothing," she answered. "It isn't you, really." Hilda gasped when he took her hand and stared at her calmly.

"Come with me. We'll go in private," Hans told her.

She was taken into the dark living room, where dark green floral wallpaper plastered the walls and it was much bigger than the main room. An upright piano stood against the wall near a large bookcase made of a similar material. In front of the fireplace was an elaborate burgundy sofa that looked as though it got new upholstery. The two sat down, and Hans looked at her curiously.

"Please tell me what's bothering you," he pleaded kindly. Hilda sighed and looked up into his blue-gray eyes.

"It's Emilio," she told him sadly.

"Your boyfriend?" he asked.

"Ja," Hilda answered. "He and I have been fighting for over a week, I guess you could say."

"Why? What's going on, Hilda?" Hans questioned, drinking from his champagne flute.

"He had since left for Italy with his Uncle Feliciano, but once you left that day, he came up to me and started yelling at me," Hilda told him frankly. "A few nights before, he had proposed marriage to me, but I didn't accept it because I am not really ready to get married yet. I told nothing but the truth to him, but he still doesn't believe me."

"Marriage?" Hans asked, feeling nervous inside. "So what happened after that?" Hilda took a sip from her flute and continued to speak.

"Well, because he and I live in different countries and don't see each other very much, he thought that us becoming friends was something more, if you know what I mean. He assumes I am cheating on him," she told him in a calm whisper. "He also blamed you and said that my friendship with you was the reason why I didn't accept his proposal." Hans looked at her, beginning to feel deep sympathy for her, and he cupped her delicate face with one his large, strong hands.

"What else did he say to you?" he asked, deeply engaged in deep thought as he listened attentively.

"He told me that if I truly loved him that I would accept his proposal and visit him in Italy, and that he wished that the girl he hit while drunk was me," she said, tears beginning to form in her great light blue eyes. Hans' eyes widened in shock at her statement. _What kind of man gets drunk like that_, he asked himself as the fires of anger burned in his heart toward the Italian.

"He hit a woman?!" he asked emphatically. "What kind of man is he? He doesn't deserve you!"

"He used to be a really bad alcoholic a few years ago, but I remember him sending me a letter saying how miserable he was that his mother locked away all of the liquor his family had," Hilda told him. "He was never really drunk around me, but he was close once. He even admitted that while he was out with his friends, he struck a random girl in the middle of the street and had to be escorted home by the police."

Hans couldn't believe his ears—Hilda was suffering from the unreasonable wrath of her Italian lover, and somehow he felt like he could do nothing but feel bad for her. Shaking his head, he held her close, gently cradling her in his arms as she reciprocated his loving, warm embrace.

"That is terrible," Hans told her. "If I had known in advance, I would have done something about it."

"Nein, I doubt there is anything that can be done," Hilda told him, on the brink of crying. "It is so strange how we fell in love the first day that we met, but our relationship lasted for about eight years."

"That is a long time," Hans said with shock in his voice. "How old are you?"

"I am twenty-two," she told him. "I have known him since I was fourteen. He was seventeen when we met. I had known his uncle since I was a baby, though, and his father hates _my _father. That caused even further tensions between us, considering my father is a prejudiced person."

"He is?" Hans asked.

"Ja, he hates anything that isn't German, but he had told me that he liked to visit Italy during a point in his life," Hilda told him. "He was a soldier during World War II, and he still has the…_doctrine_…in his head."

"_Nazi_ doctrine?" he asked, uncomfortable saying something like that of his country.

"Ja," Hilda said, hating the word he used. However, she couldn't argue with facts; it was true. "He even told me once that he'd rather me marry a German than an Italian. That just goes to show that he is prejudiced."

Hans took this thought into mind and knew that he could use her father's prejudice to his advantage. He didn't want any harm to Hilda or anybody at all, but he knew that if her father wanted her to marry a German, Hans knew for a fact that he'd be more than happy to be Hilda's husband. _Look at her_, he thought, _she is so beautiful, smart and talented. She is ideal for me_. He let her go from the embrace and looked into her eyes, noticing that she looked as though she felt better after telling him about Emilio and the problems she had with him. He cupped her face in his hands, still keeping his eyes locked on hers.

"Don't worry," he whispered softly. "If Emilio isn't there for you, then I will be. You can trust me, Hilda. That is a promise."

The young woman felt strange, but wonderful feelings surge through her body as he let those words roll off his tongue. She still had feelings for Emilio, but she felt a whole new can of worms opening that only left her wondering what would be made of Emilio and her.


	13. Chapter 13

The two young women came home late the night of Han's birthday party, and the following morning, Hilda slept later than usual. Mathilde had gotten up early as she always had, and while dusting a shelf in the dining room, she heard the doorbell ring. She quickly adjusted her appearance and walked briskly to the front door, opening it to see no one but Hans standing there with something in his hand.

"Guten morgen," she said, greeting him with a smile.

"Hallo," Hans said, returning a friendly smile. "Is Hilda awake, by any chance?"

"Nein, she is still sleeping, but I'll tell her that you came by," Mathilde said, holding onto her feather duster behind her back. Hans brought two objects into view—a small black velvet box and a bright yellow rose with a white satin ribbon on the stem.

"Will you give these to her for me?" he asked as he gave her to two items. "Auf wedersehen!"

"Auf wedersehen!" the maid replied as the strapping young man walked off the Bielschmidt property. Mathilde closed the door and took it upon herself to peek inside of the small velvet box to see what he was giving Hilda. Was it an engagement ring? No, it was too soon! Was it a brooch? No, Hilda never wore brooches. Before she could open the lid, she heard tiny footsteps, and she was startled upon seeing Heinrich standing in the doorway.

"What is that you have there?" he asked, pointing his small finger at the things Hans had left for her to bring to Hilda.

"Oh, it's nothing, Heinrich," Mathilde replied, making her way up the stairs quietly to Hilda's bedroom. She opened the door slowly, peeking her head in to see that her friend was sound asleep under the sheets. Walking in quietly, she left the two objects on the nightstand and left, leaving Hilda with privacy to see what Hans had sent for her.

At about 9:30 AM, she finally woke up. Coincidentally, the first thing she noticed in her room was the bright yellow color of the rose laying on her nightstand. She jumped up to see what was on her bedside. Picking up the rose, she smiled happily at the fully bloomed petals and the sentimental touch that the white satin ribbon gave. She chuckled, wondering who it was from, but little did she know that her questions would be answered once she laid her eyes on the small black velvet box.

She looked at it confused, wondering who had sent both the rose and whatever was in the small velvet box. She seized it from the nightstand and opened it slowly—inside was a pair of teardrop pearls dangling from teardrop diamonds set to silver earring posts. However, a piece of folded up parchment paper flew out of the box, prompting Hilda to bend down and pick it up from the floor to read it:

"_Hilda,_

_This is a gift of consolement to you after all that you've been through in the past week or so. I know this may seem somewhat extreme to give a jewelry gift to a girl who has been going through a rough time, but these pearl earrings have a story. After my father was killed in action during the Second World War, my grandma Elsa gave these to my mother as a way to help her cope with the loss and grief. Although you haven't dealt with a death, you have still been having a rough time, so I figured why not give these earrings to you to show you that I care and that I'm there for you even if someone else isn't._

_-Hans_

_P.S: Will you meet me at Berlin's city square today at noon?_"

Hilda gasped after reading the note, but at the same time it made her so emotional. With Hans giving her this sentimental gift after a short period of knowing each other, it made her realize that Emilio never gave her gifts like this. She smiled down at the note, and suddenly, Mathilde came in and stopped to look at her friend.

"Hans sent that for you earlier this morning," she told her. Hilda looked at the maid, who came closer and sat on the bed next to her to finally see what was in the velvet box.

"He sent me earrings," Hilda responded. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Mathilde held the open box up and marveled at their exquisiteness. There was a noticeable diamond set on the post and prominent teardrop pearls dangling from them. She smiled, relieved it wasn't an engagement ring or brooch, as she had previously thought, and then she looked at Hilda's ears without moving her hair aside. Her ears were pierced when she was nineteen years old, but because she didn't wear earrings often, the ear holes were small in her lobes.

"These _are_ lovely," the maid said.

"It said in this note here that his grandma, Elsa, gave these earrings to his mother to help her cope with the loss of her husband," she explained to the maid. Mathilde's eyes grew more attentive, listening closely to what she was saying.

"What happened to him?" she asked.

"He was killed in action during World War II," Hilda told her. "Also, it says he wants to meet me in the city square at noon."

"You should go!" Mathilde said with encouragement. "I bet you will have fun with whatever he has in store for you!"

"Oh, I don't know," Hilda said with reluctant contemplation.

"Come on, I think you should. Hans is a really nice guy," Mathilde told her suggestively. "And he's _very_ handsome. I personally think he is better-looking than Emilio."

"But that's the thing, Mathilde," Hilda said morosely. "I still love Emilio. What am I going to do?"

"Just go with him as a friend," the maid told her. "I bet it will be fun. Trust me."

Hilda took her friend's advice, and Mathilde helped her get ready for their midday outing. For the occasion, Hilda had her hair up, and she was wearing a short sleeved white dress with yellow floral patterns on the fabric and a full skirt that went to her knees. On her feet were matching off-white pumps and around her neck was a short string of pearls with the gift from Hans dangling in each ear. Mathilde smiled after she was all ready, and Hilda felt confident as she walked out of the house.

"Have fun!" Mathilde told her.

Within a half hour, Hilda arrived at the Berlin city center, and as her high heels struck the stone ground lightly, Hans' attention was caught and he smiled, happy to see the young woman he was secretly enamored with. He quickly noticed the earrings he had given her and he held both of her hands as he always did while greeting her.

"Those earrings look so beautiful on you," he told her genuinely.

"Danke," she told him.

"They bring out the sparkle in your eyes," he added, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Hilda could feel herself blushing from his compliment, but she was a bit embarrassed to show her natural response to his charm and flattery. Hans, realizing that her cheeks turned a pale shade of pink, let his palm graze her smooth, white skin as he smiled.

"You're blushing," he said.

"Nein, I'm not," she said rapidly with trepidation.

"Ja, you are," he said, starting to laugh at her white lie. "Maybe we can…I don't know, go to my place and have some wine? Maybe play music together?"

"I'd like that," she said happily.

Once the pair arrived at Han's small, quaint blue house, Hilda took a seat on the sofa in the main room, where the party was held the night before. It was actually very clean—she assumed that some guests helped clean up and it took a long while for everything to be picked up. He closed the front door and went into the kitchen, opening to fridge to pull out some red wine and opening the cupboard to get out two wine glasses.

"Wine, Hilda?" he offered, calling out to her. "It's your favorite."

"Ja, bitte," she told him.

Within a few minutes he came out with two equally full glasses of wine, giving one to Hilda, who was seated on the sofa. Hans joined her, taking a sip before she started up a conversation.

"Hans, may I ask you something?" Hilda asked.

"Ja, Hilda?" he wondered politely.

"How old were you when…your father—"

"When my father was killed?" Hans asked, finishing her sentence.

"Ja," she answered.

"I was a baby when he died," he said, taking another sip of his wine. "It was very hard for our family, considering my grandfather and uncles Rudolf and Sebastian were also killed in action at around the same time. Ernst, my father, was the eldest of the children, and he was killed along with my uncles fighting on the Western front. My grandfather, on the other hand, was sent to Russia and after fighting for three months, he was killed."

"That's terrible," Hilda said. "That must have been very difficult. Did your Uncle Gottfried serve as well?"

"Ja, but because he was the only surviving son of my grandparents, they let him go. He was a pilot who took part in blitzkriegs," Hans said. "He didn't want to hurt all those people and damage that many cities, but it was his duty. He could have gotten in big trouble if he quit."

"Ja," Hilda said, drinking from her glass. "My father was a soldier as well, and then he became the chairman of the Annual World Meetings after he told everybody to shut up in 1941, and he was Germany's representative. He still does it, too, and he is very good at mediating and organizing things."

"Did you ever get a chance to speak?" he asked.

"I did once. I was fourteen. I'll never forget it," Hilda began. "The representatives from America and Russia were debating over nuclear weapons, and I was sitting in the section where children and others sat and were not allowed to speak. I got up and reasoned with all of their issues, and they solved themselves." Hans looked at her, fascinated by her story. He shook his head, but with a form of positive disbelief.

"You are an amazing girl, Hilda," he told her. "That must have been a very rewarding experience. I bet you were remembered for that."

"Nein, not really," she disagreed. "I did help them solve their issues, but I wasn't really allowed to speak. My father was scolded, but he told everybody that people have rights and that one of them is to speak freely."

Hans looked at her with seduction concealed by the mesmerizing blue-gray color of his eyes. He was in love with her, but his face did a very good job at hiding it. However, his actions gave away some hints about his feelings for her, but Hilda, even though she suspected something, didn't know how much he truly loved her. Standing up, he took Hilda's hand and escorted her to the living room, where they placed their wine glasses on the coffee table. The young woman watched the handsome young man sit at the piano bench and start playing a delightful, but deep-sounding melody in the key of A minor.

It was slow, but sent clear messages to Hilda as she listened to every note played. The song gradually picked up in speed, sounding more passionate as seconds passed. Her eyes smiled at Hans, who slightly swayed his body to the rhythm of his song as his large, strong hands played the soft, delicately vehement tune. As she continued listening to the heartfelt rhapsody, she recalled what her Austrian piano teacher, Roderich, had told her about the language of music as a little girl.

"_There is one important thing to remember about music, Hilda," the dark-haired Austrian had told her. Curious as the child she was, Hilda looked up at him with her great blue eyes, moving a strand of her blonde hair out of her face._

"_Ja, Roderich?" she had asked sweetly, curious about what he was going to say._

"_Unlike speaking with words, music speaks with emotion," he began. "Feel the music another is playing—take it into your own mind, and you will find that the musician is trying to tell you something they cannot say with words."_

"_Like pantomime?" she asked._

"_Ja, only it is pantomime with sound," he said, placing his fingers on the keys. "Music is the language of feelings without words."_

"Music is the language of feelings without words," she repeated, the flashback playing like an old movie in her mind. Hans concluded the song with a soft-sounding keying technique, and he turned to look at Hilda, who stood there admiring how he was playing the piano—meanwhile, he was marveling at her angelic beauty.

"What did you say, Hilda?" he asked, she came closer to him and stood close to him, placing her hand on the top of the piano.

"It's a phrase my piano teacher taught me," she answered.

"Really?"

"Ja."

"What is it?"

"Music is the language of feelings without words," she told him. Hans looked at her, fascinated by her poetic depth—had she finally figured him out?

"Roderich, my teacher, taught me that if you feel what the musician is playing, then it is possible to take it into your own mind and it makes you realize that they are telling you something they can't with words." He looked at her with the same fascinated countenance, trying to see if she really had known how tender he was for her.

"If you can," he began softly. "What was I telling through my song?"

Hilda looked into his eyes, deep in thought as she tried to look for the right words to describe the emotions he conveyed through his delicately fervent song. Their eyes met, and it prompted her to tell him what was on her mind.

"I sensed…excessive happiness…innocence…any kind of good feeling," she told him, sighing each word as it rolled off her tongue. Hans' mouth gradually formed a closed, warm smile as he kept his eyes on the lovely young woman. She was right to an extent, but she was still off.

"Happiness," he repeated, taking his fingers off the keys. "That's exactly how I feel when I'm with you."

She gasped and her eyes widened, watching as he stood up from the stool and looked down into Hilda's eyes amorously. His large, strong hands held her waist as she drew closer, resting her head against his firm chest over his beating heart. Questioning herself, she knew that Hans' embraces were a lot better, if not more different than when she hugged Emilio. She felt so safe in his strong arms; as if she would never get hurt, or as if she were to be under his protective gaze forever. He let go and looked down into her eyes, smiling at her.

"Would you like to go to see an opera with me?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Ja," she answered with a shy tone of voice. He could see she was blushing again, but his gaze immediately made the pale pink shade in her cheeks go away.

"This Saturday, I will take you to see _Die Walküre_," he proposed. "Have you ever been to an opera?"

"Ja, I was sixteen," Hilda said. "I'd love to go. What time will it be shown?"

"Doors open at eight o'clock," Hans said. "I bet you'll look beautiful."

"Danke," she told him. He gestured his hand toward the piano, smiling at her as he let her go.

"It's your turn to play," he smiled suggestively.


	14. Chapter 14

During the week leading up to her outing with Hans at the opera house, Hilda spent almost everyday with him, talking or playing the piano together. One day, he had brought his violin over during a visit to her house, and as he played, Hilda was mesmerized by his skill and expertise—her favorite song that he played on his violin was Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_, and even though it was a slow melody, he made it sound dramatic and deep.

The two also got into a debate about something that never seemed to cross Hilda's mind—singing and vocalization. It was during the week leading up to their outing that the young woman learned of Hans' singing talents. His voice was rich and it was capable of bringing tears to the eyes of an audience. During one of his visits during the week, he was sitting at the piano in Hilda's house after he finish playing an improvised song accompanied by his voice. Wondering if the young woman had the same talent, he looked at her with intense curiosity in his blue-gray eyes, and once their eyes met, he began to speak the first words he had since singing.

"Can you sing?" he asked. Her cheeks turned a pale shade of pink as she took a few steps back. She rarely ever sang, let alone in front of another person, due to her own insecurity regarding her voice.

"Nein," she told him with trepidation. Hans shook his head and began playing a short, sweet-sounding tune on the keys, looking at her as though he were expecting to hear her sing.

"Nein," she repeated, noticing his facial expression.

"You're going to stand there and tell me you can't sing when you play beautiful music with your fingers?" he asked in disbelief. "Can you just hum for me, at least?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She only hummed when she was alone or gardening with her mother or Mathilde, when the outdoors or the solace solitude offered muffled the sound of her self-proclaimed "horrible" voice. Hans began to play a different tune in the key of B, and with this, Hilda hummed hastily as she wished for it to be over. He looked at her strangely as the muffled sound escaped from her. _She isn't even trying_, he thought to himself.

"Hilda," he said as he suddenly stopped playing. "You're not even trying."

"Ja, I am!" she retorted, disliking how he was suddenly so judgmental of her. He looked at her sternly and looked down at the keys.

"Nein, you are not," he protested. "Don't be shy. I will not judge you unless you _really _need it."

"But that would still be judging me," Hilda said, contradicting his statement. Hans looked at her, shaking his head as his fingers began playing a melody in F.

"Bitte?" he pleaded politely. "Will you at least _try_ to sing?"

"But people will hear me," she protested.

"Nein," Hans grunted, getting aggravated with her stubbornness. To show this, he intensified the speed and pressure at which he pressed the ivories. Then he suddenly stopped, keeping his eyes on Hilda.

"One of my music teachers told me to sing from my heart, for the power of song is no match for the power of ridicule," he said, striking a few chords on the keys. Hilda looked at him, her heart melting into a puddle of blood in her chest. _He's so poetic_, she thought, _Emilio was rarely this way_. Her heart raced as she looked at him, taking his word for it.

"Alright," she said. He prepared to play a song, placing his fingers on corresponding keys as he kept his eyes on the young woman's beauty.

"Do you know The Beatles?" he asked. Hilda looked at him and smiled brightly.

"Ja," she chuckled.

"Do you like any of them?" Hans asked. "My little cousin Viktoria fancies Ringo."

"I don't think any of them are attractive," she responded frankly.

"You don't?" he asked, sounding shocked.

"Why, do _you_?" Hilda joked.

"Nein, don't be silly," he said as he laughed heartily at her corny joke. "What is your favorite song that they released so far?" Hilda raised both of her defined eyebrows, looking at him as she thought of something to say.

"I'm unsure. They are very talented. I like all of their music," she told him finally after a few moments of silence. "_Yesterday_ is a good song."

"Sing it for me," he instructed. "Without music."

"Are you sure, Hans?" she asked, feeling unsure of herself. Once she noticed his stern expression of disapproval again, she cleared her throat and closed her eyes, belting out the song as best as she could:

_Yesterday,_

_All my troubles seemed so far away._

_Now it looks as though they're here to stay._

_Oh I believe in yesterday…_

He sat there and listened carefully to the sound of Hilda's singing voice, noticing not a single flaw in the way she was singing it. Her voice had a delightful, feminine quality which got him to attentively listen and enjoy it. The humming at the end of the song prompted him to stand up and clap, applauding her hidden talent.

"That was wunderbar," he said, still enchanted by her beautiful voice. "Have you ever had lessons?"

"Nein, it never struck my mind," Hilda said, surprised by his feedback. "Why develop my singing voice when it will only sound awful anyways?" He stood up and walked toward her slowly, taking her hands and holding them gently. His face looked calm and serene—it instantly became Hilda's favorite expression of his.

"Hilda, your voice is just as beautiful as you are. I didn't notice a single flaw," Hans said genuinely. "You should embrace and hone your talents. You did it with the piano, right?"

"Ja, but that's different. It isn't something you are born with," she contradicted politely, staring up into his piercing blue-gray eyes.

"Your voice is magnificent," he said, ignoring her claims of inferiority.

The night _Die Walküre_ was showing at the Deutsche Oper Berlin came as quickly as each moment with Hans passed, and for the event, both Mathilde and Krista helped Hilda prepare for the special occasion. The day before, the three went out shopping for a gown to wear, and the young woman chose a deep purple satin gown that had an off-the-shoulder style that made her sizable bosom prominent in the form of a perfect cleavage. Naturally, it made her waist look much smaller than it was, and for shoes, she wore simple black pumps. Her blonde hair was in an elaborate up-do that took Mathilde about fifteen minutes to perfect. Just when Hilda was finished, she stood up from her vanity table, dressed in her finery as the maid and Krista marveled at her magnificent beauty.

"U schitterend, Hilda. Hans is een goede man voor u," Krista said, moving forward to kiss her daughter on the cheek. Hilda looked at her, confused about what she said.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"Whatever it is, it must have been very good," Mathilde cut in joyfully.

"Exactly," Krista told her, pinching her daughter's cheek lightly. "Have fun tonight."

Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps approaching Hilda's open bedroom doorway. Krista watched as the image of Heinrich filled the empty space with smiling blue eyes and a grin on his face.

"Mom! A man is here for Hilda!" he squealed. Blushing, Hilda grew nervous and excited. Mathilde turned to her and let out a happy scream.

"It's him! He's here!" she exclaimed joyfully, embarrassing Hilda further.

"_Halte_! Keep your voice down," she ordered in a whisper. Krista walked toward the door and saw the familiar, strapping young man with blond hair and blue-grey eyes; Hans had arrived with his chauffer earlier than expected.

"Hello, you must be Hans," she said with a smile. "I don't know if you remember me, but I am Hilda's mother." He nodded and smiled at her amicably.

"Of course, how could I forget?" Hans said with mirth. "It's good to see you, Frau Bielschmidt. Is Hilda ready yet?"

"She sure is," the woman told him. "Would you like a moment alone with her?"

"Ja, danke," he told her, letting her by as he stepped into her bedroom. Mathilde left promptly, smiling at Hans as he stopped and looked at how beautiful Hilda looked in her finery. He noticed her blush, and he bit his lip to fight back any smiles or laughing out of turn.

"Hallo, Hans," she told him with a shy smile.

"Hallo," he told her, his manly, gruff voice turning to a whisper. "Close your eyes."

"How come?" she questioned.

"Just do it," he said with a smile. She took a deep breath and gently closed her lids. Hans looked down at the facial expression he had never seen on Hilda's angelically beautiful face before, imagining it in a different context.

As her eyes closed, Hilda was puzzled about what he was going to do to her. Was he going to present her with a gift? Was he planning on kissing her? Did he plan something else totally out of the ordinary? She gasped once she felt a chilling sensation on her neck and collarbone, and she heard Hans giggling as a response.

"Don't open them yet!" he ordered playfully.

"It's cold on my neck," she answered with a giggle.

Hans finished his task and walked back in front of her, facing her as he stared down at her beautiful face. He smiled and sighed calmly.

"You can open them now," he instructed, her defined eyelashes fluttering open as she gazed up into his mesmerizing, alluring eyes. Hilda placed a hand around her neck, feeling something familiar; she could tell it was of metal due to it being slightly cold.

"What did you do to my neck?" she asked.

"I didn't do anything to your neck," Hans chuckled. "You need a mirror."

Hilda walked toward her vanity table and sat down, anxious to find out what he had done to cause the chilling sensation on her neck. He tilted the mirror toward her and gasped at the sight of a sparkling, eye-catching necklace that seemed to be made of all diamonds with one diamond in the shape of a teardrop dropping into the area between her pushed-up breasts. It accentuated her cleavage well, and she felt like a princess wearing the exquisite piece of jewelry. She smiled brightly and jumped up, hugging Hans with deep gratitude.

"Danke soviel, Hans! Er ist schön!" she squealed as he held her in return. Once she let go of him, he looked down to see how she looked. _She's amazingly beautiful_, he thought, _she is an angel sent from heaven, and I love her_.

"I knew you would like it," Hans replied kindly. "I actually bought it yesterday from an upscale jeweler. It's all real diamond, and it made me think of you."

"It did? Really?" she asked, looking up into his eyes.

"Ja, very much," he answered, taking her arm into his. "Let's go. We'll be late for the opera."

Unbeknownst to the two, Ludwig, Krista, Heinrich and Mathilde were waiting at the bottom of the stairs in the room below to see them exit the house grandly. Ludwig, in particular, felt that Hans was a good match for his daughter. He also couldn't believe how much Hilda had grown up; he was very proud of her. Krista and Mathilde looked at her with the same surprising expressions, and Heinrich looked at her with childlike wonder and awe. He ran over toward his older sister and smiled up at her.

"Are you a princess?" he asked. Everyone except for Ludwig laughed at his statement; of course, he rarely ever smiled.

"Nein, we are going to the opera house tonight," Hans replied sweetly to the little boy. His attention went to Hilda, admiring her beauty for the millionth time since he'd known her. "Sie ist der Apfel meines Auges."

"What does that mean?" Heinrich asked, his cute face contorting to confusion. Ludwig, however, kept his attention on the young man. _He really likes my daughter_, he told himself, _I never got used to the idea of my daughter being in love with an Italian, but it looks as though she has moved on. I'd rather have Hans marry her than anybody else_.

"It's a figure of speech," Mathilde told the boy. As Heinrich nodded, the pair made their way out the door and into the car Hans had rented for the occasion. As soon as the two were going into the car, Ludwig and Krista stood there at the open front doorway, reflection on Hilda's life as they each knew it. Krista had not been there for the first fourteen years of her life, but she spent enough time in her life to know how much of a woman she had become.

"Oh, look!" Krista said cheerfully.

"Ja," Ludwig said, staring at the sight of his daughter's hand being held by Hans as he helped her into the vehicle. "She has grown into a fine woman."

"She sure has," Krista answered, smiling as they watched the car drive off into the night.


	15. Chapter 15

The inside of Deutsche Oper Berlin was grand; it was the place dreams were made of. Upon their entry into the building, many people, men and women alike, stared at Hilda, whose arm was in Hans' in a respectable manner. Some of them gasped in awe of her limitless beauty and some gossiped about how exquisite she looked in her purple satin gown and the diamond necklace he had given her as a gift.

Hilda gasped at the sight of the seemingly endless rows of seats before her in the actual theatre portion, and even though Hans could not afford seats in the luxurious boxes along the walls, he still managed to get front row seats to enhance the experience for both he and Hilda. It took about fifteen minutes to get by everybody to get to the front row, where they sat at last and enjoyed the opera and the two half-hour intermissions in between acts.

The height of excitement arose in the audience later during Act 3, when the familiar music of _Walkürenritt_ filled the theatre and the minds sitting there watching the show. The sight of elaborate costumes and stunning props and scenery caught the eyes of everyone and made it impossible to look away. The musical number made Hilda laugh because it reminded her of Heinrich and how he would sing it whenever he was taking his routine baths. He had sung it often, and so loud that Ludwig would get annoyed and tell him to stop singing. Hans peered over at Hilda, who had been sitting next to him for the entire show, and noticed her laughing. He leaned over and covered his mouth with his hand in order to whisper.

"Why are you laughing?" he asked with a smile. She shook her head rapidly.

"Nein, I'll tell you after the opera," she responded, her great light blue eyes going back to the show to watch the stars sing spoken words.

The finale was filled with times more intensity than Act 3, and once the show ended, everybody stood up and applauded the stars with a standing ovation. The stars all grouped together and bowed before their vast audience, and some people even threw roses on the stage. For Hilda and Hans, it took about twenty minutes to leave the crowded theatre and get into the car with the chauffer waiting for them.

"Un mein haus, bitte," Hans told the driver as he stepped on the gas and drove off. Hilda looked outside her window into the darkness of night, but then her eyes wandered to Hans, who looked ahead at the driving chauffer. Then, his eyes turned to Hilda, taking in the image of her beauty.

"Are you cold?" he asked, moving closer to her. He didn't have his arms around her, but he was close enough to get a better shot at gazing into her great blue eyes.

"Nein, danke," she replied. "What time is it?"

"Ah, the night is young. Does it make a difference?" Hans asked, his lips forming a closed smile.

"I just don't want anybody to be worried about me back at home," Hilda told him anxiously. He shook his head and looked down at her.

"Hilda, you are a grown woman. Why would they get worried?" he asked politely. She thought for a moment and nodded.

"You're right, Hans," she said. "I'm sorry."

"No worries," he answered. "You did nothing wrong."

Hans helped Hilda out of the car and paid the chauffer for his services that evening before they went into his quaint blue house. When they went in, the first thing Hans did was light a fire in the living room's hearth, while Hilda managed to answer her own question by looking at the clock—it was quarter to midnight. He came back out to see the young woman again. He looked at her, knowing that he wanted to talk to her about something serious. He also noticed she was exhausted; just the look in her great eyes gave it away.

"Hilda," he began. "Are you alright?"

"Ja, I'm fine," she answered.

"Did you like the show?" he asked. Hilda smiled and her eyes lit up, erasing any indicators of fatigue.

"Ja! It was amazing!" she said. "The costumes and scenery were wunderbar!"

"Also, how come you were laughing in the middle of Act 3?" Hans asked, remembering the small incident from the show.

"Oh, there's a story behind that," Hilda said, pointing her finger at him for a second. "My little brother sings that really loudly when he takes his baths. It's so funny!" Hans laughed as he imagined little Heinrich singing _Walkürenritt_ in the bathtub as Mathilde helped him wash. He shook his head, taking Hilda's hand and leading her to the living room. The two sat on the floor in front of the blazing fireplace, and once Hans' eyes fixed on the young woman, he could not find it possible to take them off.

She was vision in the light of the crackling flame. Her eyes sparkled immensely and as much as her diamond necklace did, but the satin covering her bosom made her even more appealing to him. Hilda, on the other hand, was staring out at the full moon in the sky, her back facing the handsome young man as the smooth fabric on the skirt of her dress fanned around her seated figure. Finally, her attention was caught by his deep, gruff voice and his slightly approaching presence.

"Hilda," he whispered. She looked back at Hans, whose eyes were full of need and passion.

"Ja, Hans?" he asked.

"There is something I need to tell you," he admitted, taking a deep breath. The intensity of the silence increased between them, making Hilda's heart race as she anxiously awaited what he so desperately needed to tell her.


	16. Chapter 16

WARNING: Explicit chapter! Read at your own risk! Skip if you want, but you will miss important plot points near the end of the chapter! Don't say I didn't warn you!

"Hilda, I have loved you since the first moment I laid eyes on you," Hans told her, moving closer to her on the carpet in front of the blazing fireplace. "I know we have only known each other for a few weeks, but you are amazing inside and out; beautiful, intelligent, talented, very reasoned. You are the positive thing that came out of my grandma Elsa's death-you knew her as well, Hilda. That's why you are so special to me."

She looked at him, speechless and confused. Out of her two brushes with love, Hans' seemed more realistic and sincere in the sense that he took his time in getting to know her sometime before pouring his heart out to her. Emilio's, however, consisted of him confessing his feelings and kissing her the same day the two met. Their relationship lasted for eight years-who knew how long she would have lasted with Hans? He embraced her from behind, his strong arms gripped around her satin-covered waist. Hilda didn't bother fighting off his advances, even though she still had feelings for Emilio.

"Hans, I am happy about your feelings but I am still in love with Emilio," she told him honestly. "He is still in my heart." Hans moved closer, preparing to whisper in her ear. Instead, their eyes met, satisfying Hans as he saw varieties of beautiful emotions in her great light blue orbs.

"Your eyes say otherwise," he said, abruptly pressing his lips to Hilda's.

Her eyes widened, gasping at his spontaneous romantic gesture. Her eyes closed once she felt his true feelings in his kiss. He was intensely passionate; in fact, he was so passionate that he caused Hilda to lie on her back, reciprocating his kiss wholeheartedly. Hans broke the kiss, backed up and looked down at her, admiring her beautiful form in her purple satin gown. Her voluptuous breasts formed a perfect cleavage that rose and fell in sync with her breathing, and the diamond necklace gave her an image that tempted Hans endlessly. She looked up at him, her heart full of different emotions including love, lust, and confusion.

"I can make you forget about him," Hans told her, leaning down to gaze deeply into her eyes. "Do you trust me?"

"Ja," Hilda said. "Of course." Hans' lips met with hers once again; this time, it was tender but full of tender sentiment. His tongue lightly brushed her lips before planting kisses on her soft jaw line, cheeks, and neck.

Hilda was sighing and panting from his unbridled passion as he sucked at her neck, searching in vain for the one spot that would make her skin crawl. She gasped once he found it; it was near the area where the neck and ear met, and as he was turned on by every moan that slipped from her mouth, he sucked on it even harder, stopping to nibble on her collarbone. Hilda's smooth, delicate fingers ran through his blond hair, her neck arched back as he softly kissed and sucked on her weak spot.

Hans stopped to remove his suit jacket and his dress shirt, revealing his firm, muscular body in the process. Hilda looked up at his form, illuminated perfectly by the light of the fireplace, and blushed. He leaned down and kissed Hilda, a successful distraction from the sensation of his hand sliding up the curve of her back to undo the zipper. Suddenly realizing this, Hilda gasped and broke the kiss.

"Nein," she protested softly.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked, looking down at her tenderly. She sighed and thought for a moment—maybe giving herself to Hans wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. It felt so right despite all the years she spent with Emilio as her lover. She gazed up into his eyes and sighed gently, caressing his cheek gently.

"You can keep going," she instructed.

Smiling, Hans completely unzipped the back of her dress and gently pulled it off her form, putting it aside as he admired her beautiful body. Her naturally large breasts were restrained in the cups of her strapless bra, and her waist was very narrow, making her hips look more or less curvaceous. The diamond necklace he had given her as a gift was still around her neck, igniting his passion even more as it sparkled on her fullness. He leaned forward and kissed Hilda's lips again, only briskly before he started kissing her neck and upper chest again. He then trailed his nose lightly down to the tops of her breasts, kissing her lightly before reaching behind to remove their confines. Throwing it aside, his hands caressed them, holding as much as he could within his palms before taking her nipples between his fingers. Hilda moaned and gasped upon feeling this foreign pleasurable sensation, turning Hans on even more.

"You're so sensitive," he said in a curious whisper. "How long has it been since you've been with a man?" She shook her head, her eyes closed as she savored the pleasure.

"Never," she told him in a sensual sigh.

"You're a virgin?" he asked in shock. "What about Emilio?"

"Nein," she answered. "When I was a teenager, Elsa told me I'd go to hell for doing this outside of marriage." Hans laughed at this thought, shaking his head.

"If that's the case, I would have been sent to hell a long time ago," he responded, his lips moving closer to her breasts. "That's what she told me, too." His mouth sucked on every part of her fullness, but it was done so softly that Hilda was driven wild. His tongue tread over her nipples as he applied suction to those areas as well, causing the young woman to arch her back.

Hans moved lower to plant suctioned kisses on her abdomen, moving back up to her bosom as his fingers began stroking her through her panties. He could feel that she was excited and anticipating the ultimate act, but she gasped even louder upon feeling his digits stroke her clothed wetness as his lips caressed her breasts; the way he did it drove her wild beyond measure.

"Hans!" she gasped as he continued stroking her. He took his mouth away from her breasts and looked up at her, his blue-gray eyes full of lust. Hilda, however, kept panting and gasping, furthering Hans' arousal to a higher height.

"You're soaked through," he said, his fingers stroking her divinity softly through her saturated panties. He then kneeled to unbuckle his belt and remove his pants and underpants. Hilda looked at his manhood-it was much bigger than she had ever imagined anybody's to be, and she could easily tell that he burned for her.

He reached down and removed her underpants slowly, causing Hilda to blush enough for him to notice. Hans gazed into her eyes lovingly, caressing her face gently as he smiled. He held his member close to her entrance as he peered down at her.

"Are you ready?" he asked. "Is this what you want?"

As Hilda nodded, Hans held her close to his hard muscular body as he sank into her tightness, causing her to whimper with pain. Tears ran down her face as she grimaced from the agony, and as he thrusted in a few more times, the pain intensified, prompting the young woman to bite his brawny shoulder and pant under loud whimpers. He didn't mind this because he knew that for a woman as pure as Hilda, it would inevitably hurt. Once her teeth let go of his shoulder, she laid her head back down on the carpet, still affected by virginal agony as the tears remained on her face. Hans looked down, noticing that she had bled on his hardness.

"It'll be alright," he told her quietly, kissing the corners of her eyes to try and relieve her. The tears stopped falling, and the young woman felt the pain subside significantly.

"I'm fine now," she told him with a cracked, strained voice. "You can move."

Relieved, Hans thrust his hips so that he went in and out of her tight liquid. Hilda arched against him, feeling the passion between them as he gradually went wild inside of her. His arms were wrapped underneath her shoulders, holding her close to him as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled the sweet amalgam of vanilla, sweet pea, and rose as he enjoyed the sensation of her snug interior.

"You're so tight!" he grunted. "It's amazing inside of you."

"Oh, Hans! Oh, ja," Hilda responded, her walls tightening around his hardness as he hit a certain spot repeatedly, making her gasp and whine rapturously. Hans looked down into her eyes as his hands held her hips to repeat his delightful motion against her wall.

"Mein gott! This feels so good! I'm going to melt!" she said.

"I know, it's incredible," he told her with an impassioned tone in his deep, gruff voice. He sat up on his knees, bringing Hilda up with him, and he wrapped her thin legs around his waist, letting her take some control over him.

"Make me forget about him from the inside!" she told Hans fervently. "Make me yours!"

"I will always be with you," he said, deeply pleasured by her coiling inner walls as he felt her fullness press against his hard, bare chest. During their carnal embrace, their eyes met, prompting the two to crash their lips to each others with insane ardor. Their tongues competed in a game for dominance as Hans hand reached up and felt Hilda's soft blonde hair, disheveling it elaborate style. She moaned intensely as her heart melted and he became dominant. Suddenly, Hilda felt an intense flame burning in her loins, making her realize she was near her climax.

"I can't take it anymore!" she shouted as she was set back down with her back on her carpet. Hans was already slamming himself into her at an alarming rate. He kept it up as he felt as though he were going to release at any given moment.

"Ich kann nicht! Ich werde kommen!" he told her as her nails dug into his back with anticipation for his climax. He spilled his warm fluidic seed inside of her, causing her to moan and pant one last time before he pulled out and laid beside her on the carpet.

Hans watched as the dim light from the fireplace illuminated most of Hilda's body. Her chest rose and fell at a rapid rate, her eyes closed as the internal desire of the moment faded. Now, it seemed as though Emilio was no longer important to her—Hans was the only man in her life and she had faith it would stay that way for quite a long while. After taking one more deep breath, Hilda's great blue eyes met with the ones of whom she had made love to, and he leaned down to kiss her, his hand caressing her body up and down. Her leg bent up, and his hand treaded lightly over the smooth, white skin in front of him, breaking the kiss to look into her eyes deeply.

"Ich liebe dich," he told her, kissing her cheek softly. Hilda smiled up at him warmly.

"Ich liebe dich auch," she answered as he laid on his back to hold her close to his side.

For the remainder of the night into the wee hours of morning, the young couple laid in front of the fireplace in the nude, and at one point, Hans got up and retrieved a blanket from his mother's old linen closet, covering the two of them as they cuddled snugly on the carpet. Her head rested against his broad shoulder, her hand over his chest as the two spoke to each other, warmed by the heat from the fireplace.

"How did you manage to get such a nice house?" she asked, realizing she had forgotten to ask him earlier in their friendship. Hans smiled, his tired blue-grey eyes looked up at the bland, white ceiling.

"I bought it with money my mother left me, as well as money my father had put aside for me before he died, of course," he told her. "He had a will written just before he was sent to fight in case something happened to him. I couldn't claim it until I was older, of course. It was a very tough time for our family."

"I can imagine," she responded in a gentle, tired sounding voice. "How long has your mother been gone, Hans?"

"Three years," he said. "It was another big loss, considering she raised me for most of my life."

She moved closer to him, thinking about their passionate night together. She knew that losing her virtue was a big milestone in her life, but what would her father say if he found out? What would he say if she got pregnant? _Nein, god forbid_, she thought pessimistically as she held Hans closer to her.

"My main living now is giving piano lessons," he added. "I really don't have any other job, and my Uncle Gottfried is usually more than willing to let me have some of his money if I ever need it. He's been so kind to me all my life, and he's like my father."

"Who have you taught?" Hilda questioned. "I figured that."

"Kids in the neighborhood; practically young people," he chuckled, realizing how corny his statement was. "I charge depending on the family's income, usually between 50 and 75 marks. If the family is rich, I will charge them 120 marks. It still pays my bills, though, and it really helps when I have several rich pupils at once."

"That's good," she told him with praise, planting a kiss on his shoulder slowly. He looked down into her eyes and smiled, letting his straight, pearly white teeth show through to show that he was happy to be by her side. Hilda sighed, staring up at him blankly as her fingertips gently ran over his toned body.

"Hans, may I ask you something?" she questioned kindly. "Please be honest."

"Ja, anything for you, Hilda," he told her, placing his arm behind him to support his head as he listened to what she had to say. She was nervous with what she had on her mind, but she said it anyways.

"Was tonight…your first time?" she questioned. Hans looked to be thinking carefully before he answered her, and when he did, Hilda concluded that his answer was to be expected due to the fact that she enjoyed loving him.

"Nein," he sighed as Hilda continued to look at him with curiosity. "I've loved women before, but I got as far as this with one woman about four years ago. It was…Erna Faltermeyer."

Hilda's eyes widened in shock—despite that she had done nothing wrong to her, Erna still hated her with a passion. In turn, Hilda didn't like her because she had belittled Mathilde and almost attacked her at her mother's garden party. Still, it made her a bit upset to know that her enemy had slept with Hans before she had.

"What?" she asked with disbelief.

"Hilda, please don't get upset. I was young and stupid, and I regret every minute spent with her, honestly," he said, trying to reassure her. It was successful, and she finally was attentive to what he had to say. _Hans is such a nice man_, she thought, _how could he fall in love with someone like Erna Faltermeyer? She's a weasel_.

"Then, what happened?" Hilda asked. "Tell me the story." He nodded, beginning with how they first met.

"Erna and I actually met because we were in the same college, where I majored in Music, respectively. Erna majored in something else and I forget what it was. In a way, it was like she latched onto me," he revealed. The young woman nodded, her nerves calmed once she was told that Erna was the one who initiated the relationship, not Hans. It would not seem logical to Hilda if it were the latter.

"How so?" she asked, dying to hear more of his story.

"One day, I was rehearsing on the grand piano in the auditorium, and there came Erna with a clipboard asking about my place in the college's annual piano recital. She was the part of the committee, and I was in the show, of course. She came up to the stage as I was playing and as I finished the song, I looked up at her and there she was staring at me with a form of lust in her eyes," he explained. "She said to me, '_It's good they're actually letting handsome guys like you be in the piano recital_.' I said, '_I beg your pardon?_' She told me, '_It's true. Your face looks as though it was carved by angels. We should have lunch together sometime_.' With that she left, and I accepted her, feeling like it was a good thing." Hilda continued to look at him, analyzing everything he was telling her.

"After that, we began seeing each other regularly, and one day, she asked me if I had ever kissed a girl. Of course I had, so I answered her. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and started kissing me. I was definitely charmed at first by her, and I thought she was pretty and nice, but it all went downhill after we…had relations one night. It was what you call a 'quickie', and I never told anybody about it because I know that Erna stands very high in society and that she would try in vain to get revenge on me that's so bad you wouldn't be able to believe it. Of course, I'm only telling you because I trust you, Hilda," he said, explaining himself solemnly.

"Ja, of course, Hans!" she exclaimed genuinely. "I swear I will not tell a soul."

"Danke," he said with gratitude. "We had a relationship for about two months, and the last fight we had was the fight that ended it all. About two months after we started dating, she began to change drastically. To me, she would talk badly of other girls, but I had enough respect to not say anything to anybody. She would throw fits on campus in front of everybody, and she'd take a tantrum whenever she didn't get her way. She was just that—a spoiled, conceited brat."

"She threw a tantrum at my mother's party because Mathilde accidentally spilled wine on her dress," Hilda said, adding to his explanation to make him aware of her belief in his words. "I believe you, Hans."

"Ja, she had a way about her that drove me insane, and not in a good way," Hans told her. "The day we broke up was during my afternoon practice, and she came into the auditorium, going behind me and rubbing my shoulders as I was playing. I ignored her, but then she was persistently annoying me. After I shrugged her hands away from her, she grabbed me and shouted, 'Why are you being such a dick?' I kept my temper under control and looked back at her calmly, saying, 'I am rehearsing right now. I will be with you later.' Then she screams at me, saying, 'Later, later, later! You don't care about me! You are more into your music than anything else! What about me? You haven't touched me in a long, long time!' Then, I just looked at her and said, 'You don't deserve my love, Erna. I no longer love you.' Then she got really angry with me and we fought. It all ended from there."

Hilda looked at him, wondering how the fight went. It didn't matter of course, but the idea sparked her curiosity. Then, he continued speaking.

"Hilda, I learned something from that relationship, and I also made a promise to myself after that…night with her," he began. "I promised never to make love with another woman unless I was absolutely sure I was in love with her. Now, I've found her. I love you, Hilda, and I hope you love me in return."

"Ja, I do," she said. "Of course, Hans."

Just before falling asleep next to each other, the two shared a passionate kiss. Hilda rested her head against Hans' chest and closed her eyes, not knowing of the events that were to come.


	17. Chapter 17

The luminous, white light of the full moon transitioned to the joyful light of the sun within hours of the time they spent together that night, and it was the first thing that roused Hilda from her slumber against Hans' smooth, hard body. Covered by the blanket she shared with him, she sat up and looked around, but only a faint sight of the clock in the main room was visible, so she knelt on the carpet she was laying on and saw that it was 8:30 in the morning.

She gasped, knowing that her family usually got up at eight o'clock every morning, and she couldn't even begin to imagine what her father would say if he realized she had been gone the whole night and didn't come back until morning. What was she going to tell him, knowing that he wouldn't be happy with her? _Nein, I cannot tell him_, she promised herself as she pulled the blanket off her in order to rummage the floor for her undergarments. As she came across each undergarment, she put it on her body, but when she tried to put on her bra, she struggled because it hooked in the back and the size of her breasts prevented her from reaching far back enough to fasten it. She grunted loudly, waking Hans up in the process. He opened his eyes, rubbing them roughly to remove any sleep, and he sat up to see Hilda struggling with her garment.

"What are you doing, Hilda?" he asked.

"I'm trying to fasten my bra," she said, getting aggravated. Despite his exposure, he got up and helped her, taking the two hooks together and fastening them tightly. Hilda sighed, looking up at him and seeing that lust was still in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek softly, looking down into her eyes.

"You have to get back, don't you?" he asked.

"Ja," Hilda answered. "I hope they don't notice that I am gone."

Hans reached down to the floor and grabbed her satin purple gown she had worn to the opera the night before. The woman had still been wearing the diamond necklace, but her hair was disheveled and there was a smear of light pink lipstick in the corner of her mouth from their passionate kissing. Hans noticed it after she slipped back into her dress, and he swiped it away himself.

"What was there?" she asked, looking at him strangely as she raised her fingertips to her mouth.

"It was just a smear," he said.

She went on her tip-toes and hugged him tightly just after putting on her simple black leather pumps, and when she went outside of Hans' abode, she saw a car parked in front. The window rolled down slowly, and the head of a middle-aged man looked at Hilda and started speaking.

"Excuse me, but are you Fraulien Bielschmidt? Your father sent me to pick you up," the chauffer said, looking at the finely-dressed young woman. _Oh nein_, she thought nervously, _my father _did _notice me gone_.

Meanwhile, Ludwig paced in front of the front door with Krista watching him as she stood in the doorway connecting the hallway and the main room. Her demonic black eyes watched her husband as his frustration and intense worry about his daughter's whereabouts grew. _Why didn't she come home_, he asked himself. His wife in the doorway raised her eyebrows at Ludwig, who was still walking back and forth anticipating his daughter's return.

"Why hasn't she come home? She should have been home by at least one last night!" he said with aggravation.

"Oh, please, Ludwig, get away from the door," his wife responded with annoyance. "Maybe they went somewhere else after? Don't worry, I'm sure she's fine."  
"Nein!" Ludwig grunted, his face getting red. "You really don't know what you are talking about, Krista. I'm sorry, but please, get out of here."

The door opened, and Hilda came into the house, but before she knew it, she noticed that her father was more than upset as he stood there looking at her angrily.

"Where have you been!?" he boomed, keeping his eyes on her as he moved closer to her. "Sie sollten in einer letzter Nacht zuhause sein!"

"Seitdem wann habe ich eine Abendglocke, Vati?" Hilda replied defiantly, knowing she was setting herself up from intimidation by her father. She walked past him, but Krista came in from her place in the doorway and placed her hands on her daughter's cheeks, noticing that they were a darker shade of pink than usual.

"My God, your face is flushed, and your hair is disheveled," she indicated calmly with concern in her voice. "Where were you last night?" Hilda had to think fast—what was she going to tell them. Though it wasn't ever tolerated when people lied to Ludwig, she knew she had to in order to avoid being yelled at or intimidated.

"Probably at the bar, drinking," Ludwig sneered. "How many drinks have you had?" Hilda's answer was given, and all she had to do was play along with the lie.

"I don't know," she fibbed. "I can't remember."

She walked slowly to the living room and plopped her bottom down on the sofa, rubbing her forehead as her mother rushed to sit beside her. Holding her small, fragile hand, Krista looked at her daughter with deep concern. Then, playing along with the false story of her going to a bar with Hans and getting drunk, she sat in an unladylike manner by sitting with her legs as open as possible, but it was a bit limited how far open her legs could go because the fabric of her dress and the design of her skirt made it virtually impossible to sit like a man. She relaxed her arms at her sides, looking around the room deliriously as if she were intoxicated. Of course, it was all an act because she didn't have the heart to tell her parents about how she and Hans made love, nor could she be brave enough to face her father's reaction.

"Hilda!" he exclaimed with shock. "Why the hell are you sitting like that?" Hilda looked up at him, raising her hand so it dangled from her wrist.

"I don't know," she answered, smiling up at him as she kept portraying a drunken woman.

"You are acting stupidly," he told her. "I hope you're happy with yourself."

Suddenly, Hilda broke the act and sprung up from her seat, feeling anger burn within her heart. Ludwig kept his eyes on her, watching her suddenly become "sober" as she started speaking as though she were hissing.

"Dad! I am perfectly sober! I don't need to justify myself to you! I am a grown woman, and you are treating me like a child," she said, looking at him hatefully.

"Don't you _dare_ raise your voice at me, Hilda!" Ludwig shouted. "I am your father and you _will_ respect me and you will answer to me if I tell you as long as you are under this roof!"

"Nein, I will not," she said, crossing her arms over her chest with disapproval as she stuck her small nose in the air, similar to how Erna did it when she first met her.

He couldn't control himself anymore—Ludwig approached his daughter and looked down at her with an urge to strike her for her disobedience. Instead, he noticed the necklace she was wearing, sitting on her chest with all its beauty and elegance, and he grabbed the larger portion of it, tearing it off her neck so forcefully that a few diamonds fell out of their settings. Hilda, upon feeling the ripping metal against her neck, looked at her father in shock as a few more diamonds fell to the floor. He was furious, and she was intimidated now more than ever—her lower lip trembled at the sight of the broken necklace that also happened to be the most beautiful gift Hans had ever given her. It also meant a lot to her—she had lost her virginity wearing nothing but that adornment. Krista, watching his aggressive action, walked toward her husband, looking at him with disbelief—why was he being so controlling of their grown daughter?

In an instant, Hilda's great blue eyes became submerged with tears that ran down her cheeks as she ran upstairs to her room, shocked by what her father had done. She slammed the door and crashed onto her vanity table, starting to sob silently. As she continued to weep and cry softly, Ludwig looked at the remnants of pieces still intact in the necklace—there were only a few diamonds, the fastening chain and clasp was broken beyond repair, and most of the diamonds fell on the floor, but surprisingly, the teardrop one that dangled on Hilda's cleavage was intact. He shook his head, looking down at the broken adornment with shame and guilt. When his eyes turned to his wife, Krista looked at him, her red eyes glaring at him as she shook her head.

"Krista," he said, calmed down from his anger.

"Don't talk to me," she ordered sharply, walking out of the room and up the stairs to her daughter's room. She opened the door, peeking her head in to see where her daughter was. Hilda was no longer sobbing—the eyes in her reflection stared back at her sadly. The cherry red-haired woman walked in slowly, crouching next to her seated daughter at the vanity table. Her crimson eyes turned to their normal dark shade, and Hilda turned to look at her. Krista gasped, noticing a few small scratches on her daughter's neck from Ludwig ripping the necklace off her and breaking it. She rubbed the area gently with her finger, and Hilda didn't even respond. Then, Krista took her daughter into her arms to console her.

"He broke my necklace," he said in a cracked, strained voice. Krista looked at her neck and back into her jaded blue eyes.

"Your father loves you. He wants to protect you for as long as he can," she reminded her daughter, kissing her on the cheek. "He may be cold and heartless at times, but he only cares for you even though you are a woman now."

"I love Hans, mom," Hilda confessed. Krista looked at her and smiled.

"That's very good news, Hilda," she said proudly. "I thought you loved Feliciano's nephew, though."

"Nein, not anymore. I can't love him," she told her mother. "He is angry with me still, but I didn't do anything wrong to him. He thinks I cheated on him just by being friends with Hans. Remember he came that day?"

"Yes, I do," Krista told her, loosening her arms around. "I remember how unreasonably angry Emilio was. It happens, Hilda. It happens."


	18. Chapter 18

During the weeks following Hilda and Ludwig's fight, Hans still kept in touch with the young woman and visited her almost everyday. After all, Hans loved Hilda very much and always felt the urge to see her. The two played the piano with each other, sang, talked, and shared a kiss or two in the privacy of her bedroom. As for Ludwig, he was so ridden with guilt that he tried in vain to apologize to his daughter, but because of the sentimental value of the necklace, it took Hilda about two weeks to finally forgive him. At the end of the second week, Ludwig, who had saved all the pieces including the diamonds, brought it to a jeweler to have it repaired. He later realized the salvaged diamonds were useless because while the necklace could still be restored to its former elegance and beauty, the jeweler had plenty of newer, brilliant diamonds on hand to set into it. The chain couldn't be repaired, but a new one was put on, and the day Ludwig presented it to his daughter, it came to her as an unexpected surprise she couldn't believe to be true.

"Hilda," he said. "I was in town today, and I—"

"Dad, if you are going to apologize again, don't even bother because I will not forgive you," Hilda said stubbornly as she was seated at the piano waiting for Hans' daily midmorning visit. Ludwig sighed and looked at her, hoping what he had on his person would make her feel happier.

"I think this will change your mind, liebling," he said, slowly taking out the newly-repaired diamond adornment from his pocket.

Hilda's eyes lit up at the sight of her necklace, repaired and restored to the way it looked when Hans gave it to her. She smiled, jumping up from the piano bench to hug her father tightly. Ludwig looked down at his daughter, who was thrilled to have her sentimental gift given back to her, restored and ready to be worn again.

"Danke! Danke! Danke!" she cried happily, letting go of her father to peck a kiss on his cheek. He gasped, giving her back the repaired necklace. As she held it, she marveled at the seemingly new look to its ravishing extravagance—every diamond was set perfectly in place and sparkled like a thousand suns, and the silver setting and chain were all intact as it was before. When she began to cry and sob, Ludwig looked down at her, baffled by why she was sad.

"Hilda, don't cry!" he said with deep concern, an unusually display of character for a man like him. "Why are you so upset?"

"I don't know," she wept as she held her father close to her again. "I guess my necklace is so beautiful."

"But you're sobbing," Ludwig said, contradicting his daughter. "Something is wrong, liebling, and if you're willing to tell me, I'll listen."

"Nein, I'm fine," she cried, wiping her eyes of any tears she shed. "I don't know why I cried, dad."

A week later, Hilda began to have dizzy spells, often to the point where she lost her appetite during lunch or dinner. One day, Mathilde was bringing in laundry from the outside clothes line, and as she carried the light brown wicker basket through the house to the laundry room, she looked at the piano and saw a hand dangling on the floor from above. Shocked by the unusual sight, she put the basket of clean clothes down and walked over briskly, seeing no one but Hilda unconscious with her head in her lap and her small, petite hand dangling down to the floor.

In a panic, Mathilde grabbed her friend's wrist to feel for a pulse—it was still going, but questions rolled through her head as she feared for her health. She tried to breathe calmly, but it was no use—her concern was extreme.

"Herr Bielschmidt! Frau Bielschmidt! Heinrich! Somebody!" she shouted. "Hilda's unconscious!"

At an instant, Krista ran to the living room and gasped fearfully at the sight of her unconscious daughter. Placing a hand to her chest, she walked of to the piano rapidly and tried to revive Hilda by pulling her upper body upright and moving the blonde tresses attached to her face. Her face was a sickly pale color that made the two women worry even more until Ludwig came in. He looked and rushed over to his unconscious daughter, and he lightly slapped her cheeks to get her to rouse—it was to no avail.

"What is wrong with her?" he asked, concern lacing his deep, heavily virile intonation. Mathilde still had the fear in her, but she answered.

"I don't know! I came in here to get to the laundry room and I see a hand dangling from the piano and I see it's Hilda!" she cried in a panic. "She is still alive, though. I checked her pulse, but I hope she is alright!"

Within the next half hour, Ludwig ordered Krista to call a doctor to the house, but took him over an hour to reach their house due to traffic. Ludwig made sure that his daughter was comfortable, so he carried her up to her bed and laid her there, going back downstairs to wait for the doctor to come. Upon his arrival, Ludwig rushed over and greeted Dr. Peter Hendler, who looked at the tall, strong fellow German with concern.

"I was told there is an emergency here," he said, making sure he was at the right place.

"Ja, our daughter fell unconscious," Ludwig said frantically, leading the medical professional upstairs to the young woman's bedroom. The door was already open, and Dr. Hendler looked down at a pallid, sickly Hilda, who was still unconscious and laying on her bed. Mathilde and Heinrich were already downstairs, but Krista was in the room holding Hilda's hand with endearment and fear of her health.

"Frau, you must leave now," the doctor ordered, taking her seat as she got up to leave the room.

As soon as Ludwig left as well, Dr. Hendler did normal a normal check-up—using a stethoscope, testing reflexes, but just before he began to finger prick, Hilda's eyes opened, and she looked at the doctor, who was sitting by her bedside looking in his briefcase for a pricking needle. She rubbed her eyes and groaned softly, catching his attention quickly. He looked at her and sighed with relief.

"Are you feeling alright?" he questioned. "Your family was awfully worried about you." Hilda looked around, noticing she was in her room and not at the piano where she was practicing while waiting for Hans' second visit that week.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"It's alright. I have everything under control," he assured her, jabbing the needle into her index finger to draw blood.

Hilda winced and gasped as a few drops of blood emanated from her finger and into a medium-sized test tube. Dr. Hendler took two different kinds of litmus strips from a special container—one for blood sugar and another to detect pregnancy—and dipped each into her small blood sample. He had to wait about a minute to see if they changed color, and only the blood sugar one changed.

"Your blood sugar seems a little low," he told her, looking to her just after studying the litmus strip. "When did you last eat?"

"I'm unsure. Yesterday morning, I think," Hilda answered weakly.

"That isn't good," he told her. "Have you had any loss of appetite lately?"

"Well, a week or two ago, I found myself to eat only breakfast, not even lunch or dinner," Hilda said. "It still continues, but I didn't eat today." The doctor, who had a clipboard and pen with him, wrote it down to help him make his diagnosis.

"Now, is this the first time you have fainted or felt dizzy?" Dr. Hendler questioned.

"Nein, I have felt dizzy for about a week, but it's on-and-off," she answered.

As he jotted down a few more notes or observances, Dr. Hendler looked at Hilda, putting on his stethoscope as he held the tunable diaphragm in his large, aged hand. Dr. Hendler was a man of about fifty with thinning grey-brown hair and small brown eyes with a great nose that looked crooked to a degree. He was slightly shorter than Ludwig and was very thin. Hilda looked at him, studying his calm exterior before he made a strange request.

"Will you please unbutton the top of your dress? I want to check something," he told her.

Doing as told, Hilda was reluctant and unbuttoned the front buttons of her dress. Though she had been bloated for about two weeks, she was embarrassed to show him. He placed the tunable diaphragm on her stomach and moved it around, trying to see if there was an extra heartbeat. Suspecting she was pregnant, he looked at Hilda and smiled.

"What is it, doctor?" she asked.

"When was the last time you had sexual relations with someone?" he asked, his smile quickly fading to his calm countenance. Hilda began to blush, thinking abut her passionate, love-filled night with Hans just a few weeks before. She looked down at her stomach, which looked bloated and bigger than usual, and remembered how her appetite had changed from eating normally to almost nothing and how she was light-headed and dizzy. She looked at the doctor and answered.

"Ja, it was about three weeks ago," she told him honestly. Dr. Hendler wrote a note on his slip of paper clipped to the clipboard. Hilda was dying to find out what was wrong with her.

"It is evident you are pregnant, Hilda," he told her. _Nein_, she thought, _it isn't true_. "Dizzy spells, fainting, bloated stomach, loss of appetite…I guarantee it." Her heart raced with trepidation, gasping as she learned this. She felt unready to be a mother—how would her father react if he knew she was pregnant? Most of all, what about Hans? Would he stay with her or abandon her?

"Nein," she protested thoughtfully. "I am not pregnant. It isn't true! Please say it isn't so, doctor."

"I'm afraid it is so," Dr. Hendler said, putting his medical objects back into his briefcase before closing the locks tightly. He stood up and looked down at her, placing his hand on her forehead to calm her nerves down. "Don't worry—I'll take good care of you, fraulein."

Meanwhile, there was a knock at the front door, and Heinrich rushed to answer it, for Ludwig, Krista and Mathilde were too preoccupied waiting for the doctor to finish checking Hilda for any signs of poor health. The little boy's blue eyes stared up at no one but Hans, and smiling, he hugged him to greet him, welcoming him into the house.

"Guten tag, Herr Schweitzer," Heinrich told him sweetly as he closed the door. "How are you today?" Hans smiled down at him and bent down to talk to him.

"I am well, danke. It's good to see you again, Heinrich," Hans replied with a friendly smile. "Is your sister there? I've come to visit with—"

Noticing the worried faces of Hilda's family, Hans began to wonder what had been going on at that moment. Ludwig didn't look any different, for he was always so serious and stern. Krista's black eyes turned into their devilish red color, and Mathilde just stood there primly with an apprehensive look on her pretty face. Heinrich, however, seemed to be in good spirits as he always was, but deep down and through his clear, light blue eyes, Hans could see that he looked scared and worried.

"What is going on? Why is everybody so sad?" The little boy touched the hand of the tall, strapping German, who stared down at him and crouched to meet him at eye level.

"My sister is sick," the boy told Hans. "She isn't waking up, either. We don't know why." Hans looked down at him, placing his large, strong hands on the boy's petite, but refined shoulders.

"Sick? Why? What's wrong with her, Heinrich?" Hans asked, deeply worried about the woman he loved so much.

"Mathilde found her near the piano. Her hand was dangling down, and she was just…sleeping," the boy answered, unsure of what was really going on.

Upon hearing the sound of someone coming down the stairs, Ludwig jumped up from his seat and saw Dr. Hendler standing at the bottom of the stairwell, looking at him with a calm, reserved expression.

"She is awake now," he told everyone. Cheers came from Krista, Mathilde, Hans and Heinrich, but Ludwig just sighed of relief, knowing his daughter was fine after all. Assuming there was nothing more to hear from the doctor, Krista left the room, followed by the maid and Heinrich, who went to the dining room to get ready for lunchtime. Ludwig, however, stayed behind with Hans, who was standing near the doorway. He was dying to know why his daughter had an episode.

"Doctor, is she alright? What happened to her? Did you find the cause of her fainting?" he asked frantically. Hans came closer to listen to whatever the doctor had to say. Dr. Hendler placed a pen in his coat pocket, sighing as though he accomplished something.

"Herr Bielschmidt, this isn't going to be easy to tell you, as I am assuming you do not already know," he said.

"What is it? Is she going to be alright?" Ludwig asked demandingly, wanting an answer from the doctor.

"She is pregnant," he sighed.

Ludwig's jaw dropped, staring at the doctor with intense disbelief. Lost and confused, he shook his head, trying to pass his statement off as a lie; but Dr. Hendler has a sterling reputation. He was known to be a very good, honest, thorough doctor who was serious about serving his patients in the best way he possibly could. Hans, upon hearing this, was shocked and began blushing, knowing that he was the father of the child.

Ludwig sat down in the chair he was in, resting his elbow on his knee as he rubbed his eyes; the thought of Hilda having an illegitimate child killed him, and it was even worse that he was unfamiliar with pregnancy symptoms himself. He had witnessed the birth of his son Heinrich, but he never witnessed Hilda's birth—what was he going to do? _I am too young to be a grandfather_, he thought, _I am going to speak to that girl once she is better_.

The doctor left, and Ludwig paid him with fifty marks before he went of the Bielschmidt property. Hans stood there, worrying about how his life would be with Hilda. He always wanted to raise a family and be a father, but he never knew he would get Hilda pregnant after just one night. He sighed, and once Ludwig noticed Hans' facial expression, it gave it away—he was furious with the young man.

"You're the father, aren't you?" Ludwig asked. Hans looked at him, ashamed and intimidated.

"Ja," he confessed quietly.

In an instant, Ludwig grabbed the collar of Hans' shirt and slammed his back against the wall angrily, noticing how scared the young man was. Ridden with anger, he began to shout at him, making Hans afraid of him even more.

"I can't believe you! I am _too _young to be a grandfather!" Ludwig screeched. "You stole my daughter, you asshole!"

Without hesitation, Ludwig punched the young man in the stomach so hard the wind knocked out of him. Letting him goo, he went in the drawer of a desk in the room, pulling out one of his many Lugers, pointing it at Hans as if he were to kill him at any given moment. Hans struggled to regain his breath, and he didn't fight back out of fear he would lose Hilda and never see her again. Instead he remained on his knees, begging for his life.

"Nein! Nein! Bitte, don't kill me, Herr Bielschmidt! That child needs me! Hilda needs me!" Hans begged, tears streaming down his face.

"Schließen Sie Ihren Mund, Hans!" the armed man shouted spastically. "I began to trust you, and you go on and take advantage of my daughter!? _Ich werde Sie töten._"

"Don't kill me! I swear it! I did not take advantage of Hilda! _Glauben Sie mich bitte_!" he begged, tears streaming down his face as he begged for mercy.

"You couldn't wait until you were married? You just went ahead and did that? I can't believe you!" Ludwig responded, clicking the revolver and provoking more intense fear within Hans.

"Bitte! Don't kill me! Bitte! I'm begging you!" the young man pleaded.

"You beg like a woman! Take it like a man!" Ludwig said.

Coming forward, Hans took the front of the gun and held it too his forehead, showing Hilda's father that he was not a coward, but indeed brave enough to die if it meant his child could live. Ludwig looked down at him, shocked by his gesture, and listened to what he had to say.

"Fine, kill me," Hans said, fearful tears falling down his face. "Kill me, if you want to so much, but keep in mind that I will not suffer as much as the child will without me. Without me, that child will end up nowhere in life because of you! I love Hilda with all my heart and soul, and I know for a fact she loves me, too. She wouldn't give herself to a man she didn't love, Herr Bielschmidt. Hilda is an amazing woman, and the only woman who is compatible with me. Someone like me." Hans stood up from the floor, letting the gun's tip go as Ludwig stared into his promising blue-gray eyes curiously.

"Herr Bielschmidt, I ask you for one thing," Hans began again. "I would like to marry Hilda. May I have her hand?"


	19. Chapter 19

Ludwig gasped, noticing the sincerity in Hans' tear-drowned eyes. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling quickly as he stood erect in front of the father of his one love. Ludwig's light blue eyes glanced down at his gun, sighing remorsefully as he shook his head.

"Nein, I can't kill you, Hans. I can't ever hurt you," he told him, calming his temper down as he put the gun back in the drawer slowly. Hans watched him, but then he started talking again.

"If I killed you, I would have made a huge mistake," Ludwig continued, placing his hands on the desk. "I could never hurt my daughter and my grandchild. They both need you, most of all the baby does." He turned to look at Hans, who had wiped his face of any tears he had cried from being afraid. Ludwig sighed, closing his eyes as he added one more statement to give Hans an answer to his question.

"I will let you marry my daughter," he said. "On one condition." Hans smiled happily at the thought of Hilda being his bride, but when Ludwig mentioned an obligation, he had no choice but to listen.

"Ja, Herr Bielschmidt. Anything at all, name it!" the young man said excitedly. Ludwig looked at him with an unsmiling expression as he listed the condition under which he and Hilda were to be married.

"In order to prevent suspicions that would risk my daughter's reputation, I want you both married within a month. Luckily, she isn't showing yet, so people will not question you both about your…relations," he told him calmly.

Overjoyed by the turn of events, Hans smiled brightly at Ludwig and wrapped his arms around him tightly, hugging him with deep gratitude and happiness. Ludwig looked down at the young man with confusion, disliking his show of emotions no matter how positive they were.

"Please let go of me," he told Hans. "Men do not hug each other." The young man let go and smiled at Hilda's father again, a tear of joy forming in his eye which he wiped away as quickly as it came.

"I'm so happy, Herr Bielschmidt," the young man said. "Danke! So much! I want to be honest and tell you that I was going to ask you sooner to marry your daughter."

"Ja?" Ludwig responded. "I want be honest myself and say that you are a wonderful match for my daughter. I'm so happy my grandchild will be German—I'd much rather have that over a half-anything."

"I have been carrying around my mother's ring for over a week trying to ask you for your consent," Hans said, pulling something out of his pocket.

Ludwig looked down at the simple gold ring with a single diamond set in the tiny, gilded prongs. He could tell it was an old piece of jewelry, but although he was not a sentimental man, he knew that it had a lot of emotional value to Hans and that it would have the same effect on Hilda. The man nodded, approving of the ring greatly.

"I'll even propose to her right now," Hans told him, moving toward the staircase. As he climbed the steps, Ludwig approved.

"Only if she's awake. Don't bother her otherwise," he ordered in the usual stern manner.

When Hans entered Hilda's bedroom, he entered slowly at first, but then she noticed him and had a nervous expression on her face. Hans sat in the seat next to her bed, looking at the woman he wanted to spend his life with and start a family. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, but she didn't respond the way she always did—she rolled over on her side, her back facing Hans.

"Hey, Hilda, it's alright," he said, patting her thin arm gently. "Are you alright? I heard what happened."

"Ja?" Hilda answered expressionlessly, bringing her knees up to her chest. "Hans, I need to tell you something very important and I hope that you will listen to me."

"I know," Hans told her softly. "You're pregnant." She sat upright on the bed, looking at him with shock, gasping breathily.

"How did you know?" she asked worriedly.

"The doctor came down and told me and your father," he told her. Her jaw dropped—her father had known! _Nein, he'll kill me_, she thought frightfully.

"Nein! Mein gott! Is he mad!?" she exclaimed.

"Nein, Hilda," he told her. "I can assure you. I actually have something serious to talk to _you_ about."

"What is it, Hans?" Hilda questioned.

He was still holding the small, meaningful ring in his hand, for he had shown it to Ludwig before planning on giving it to Hilda as an engagement ring. He held it up, diamond side up, and Hilda looked at him with her eyes widened.

"Hilda, I love you so very much, and I couldn't be happier just knowing you. We are so compatible, and you are my exact other half. I know you once said you weren't ready to get married, but I hope you will reconsider. Hilda Bielschmidt, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?" he asked. She thought for a moment, tears of joy rolling down her cheeks as she smiled grandly at the man she loved.

"Ja! Ja, I will! I'm so happy!" she said, embracing him closely as tears of joy ran down his face as well. He laughed heartily, proud of his achievement, but he let her go, placing his hand on her abdomen that was to grow in the coming months. He gently rubbed her belly, and she smiled at him.

"Aw, _mein kind_," he said with subtle happiness, feeling the deeper emotional connection he had with Hilda now that she was pregnant with his child. "I'm so happy."

"I am, too, Hans. When I first found out about my pregnancy, I didn't know if you would react positively. I seriously thought you weren't ready to be a father and that you would leave me," the young woman said nervously, tears forming in her eyes from the emotions brought on by the turn of events. Hans held her close, shaking his head.

"Nein!" he exclaimed. "Ich liebe dich, Hilda! I would _never_ do such a thing! Our child needs me in its life!" he protested, still holding her close to him as tears began forming in his eyes. "You do not deserve that, believe me. You don't. No woman deserves a man who will take advantage of her and leave her."

"Did my father react a certain way?" Hilda asked, wiping her eyes. Hans, recalling how Ludwig had pointed a gun at him furiously after finding out Hilda had sexual relations out of wedlock, sighed and came up with something to tell her that wouldn't make her upset.

"Nein, he was quiet," he fibbed. "Didn't say anything, but he knew it was me who is the father of the baby."

"Did he mention anything else?" Hilda asked.

"Ja," Hans responded. "He told us that we should get married within the next month." Hilda sighed stressfully, looking into his blue-gray eyes thoughtfully.

"We can do that," she told him. "It'll be a lot of work, but with a little help, we can plan a great wedding."


	20. Chapter 20

The rest of the Bielschmidt family received Hilda's engagement to Hans well. Krista was overjoyed, and kissed them both on the cheek, even Hans, who laughed and was happy to be accepted into their family. Heinrich, who was always in high, jovial spirits, was particularly excited to have a brother in-law even if he barely understood what it was because he was so young. However, Ludwig had his own opinion, because it was fixed and seemed somewhat irrational and negative, he kept it to himself. Even though he accepted Hans as his son-in-law-to-be, he was still reluctant to let his daughter leave his life so soon.

To Ludwig, Hilda getting married or having a baby was a huge deal. She was his first child, and he raised her from birth when Krista couldn't. At twenty-one, he wasn't ready to be a father and he was so confused about how to raise her, considering he was soldier and was away sometimes. As they ears passed, Hilda grew older, taller, smarter, and more beautiful than the previous year, succeeding in everything she did whether it was school, her music lessons, or everyday life in general. With the occasional intervention of friends Kiku and Feliciano, Hilda turned out to be the daughter any father would be proud to have. The influence of Elsa, who was also Hans' grandmother, also shaped Hilda to be that way, which he was also very satisfied with.

A few days after the big news of a baby and a wedding, Hilda, Krista, Mathilde, and Ute, Hans' aunt, began planning and figuring out where and when to hold the wedding. Both families were Protestant, so a religious ceremony was not an issue—the pastor agreed to officiate the ceremony, and Hilda was overjoyed at this. Krista, however, was Catholic and wasn't entirely familiar with German Protestant churches, even though the only time she had ever gone to one was Elsa's funeral. The two were set to marry during mid-August, and once Hans found out about their planning routine, he began taking an active role within it. He was a very good organizer, and it was up to him to decide how much they were going to spend on the cake, food, venue, decorations, attire, music, and so on. Aware that the Bielschmidt family was somewhat affluent because of Ludwig's former rank as a lieutenant-general, he knew that money wouldn't be a huge problem, and that he could help make this the best wedding ever.

At once, the four women started writing out invitations, but they made sure they were in English for convenient purposes—there were guests Ludwig and Hilda wanted to invite from other countries, like Kiku in Japan, Feliciano in Italy, Elizavetha in Hungary, and Roderich in Austria. Ludwig's brother, Gilbert, had already lived in Germany, but he lived in a city so far away that he had to stay in hotel when he came for the wedding. Ute, who was unfamiliar with the English language, had a list of translated English words into German written by Hilda, who was fluent in the language and used it everyday to talk with her Dutch mother—she spoke German more often, though, especially to her father, little Heinrich, Hans, and fellow Germans.

"Liebe Hilda, was bedeutet dieses Wort auf Deutsch?" Ute asked, calling the young woman over. Hilda looked down at the English word she struggled with and looked at her. The word was "place", but Hilda felt that Ute shouldn't fill out the invitations because she knew almost no English.

"Es, bedeutet "Platz". Ute, warum nicht tun, hören Sie auf, Einladungen auszufüllen, und lassen mich übernehmen. Gehen Sie Hilfe Ihr Neffe mit der Planung eines Treffpunkts bitte?" Hilda suggested as the older woman stood up and walked to the living room where her nephew had been on the phone for hours contacting different venues.

"Ganz richtig," she said as she left the room. Hilda took her place and filled out the proper information on the invitation.

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of_

_Hilda Bielschmidt_

_and_

_Mr. Johann Wilfried Schweitzer_

_On the twentieth of August, one thousand nine-hundred sixty-five_

_At eleven o'clock in the morning._

_Johann_, Hilda thought, looking down at the invitation, _why did Ute put his real name instead of just 'Hans'?_ _It would have been just fine_.

"Hilda," a voice called into the room. Recognizing the familiar voice, she looked up from the elaborate invitation to see Hans standing in the doorway with a piece of paper.

"Ja, Hans?" she wondered as he approached her.

"You know that really nice venue you suggested?" he asked as if he were going to tell her something.

"The one that does ice sculptures, has crystal chandeliers, a big rose garden and a huge fountain in the front of it?" Hilda asked.

"Ja. That's our venue," he said with excitement. Hilda's face lit up and she giggled happily.

"That's great! We really are going to have the best wedding!" she replied.

Mathilde, who had been gone for a few minutes to collect envelopes from the outside mailbox, came back in, closed the door, and looked at the letters. Noticing one with an Italian postage stamp on the upper right corner, she saw it was addressed to Hilda specifically.

"Hilda," she said, handing her the letter. "I hope you aren't _too_ busy, but there is a letter for you in the mail."

"Alright," Hilda said, taking the letter form her and setting it aside. "I'll read it later. I just need to write out these invitations."

After just a few hours, the venue had already been picked out and all the invitations were written out. Ute had left for the day, and all the women planned on taking Hilda to pick out a wedding dress and veil the next day. Remembering the letter she had set aside shortly after receiving it from Mathilde, the young woman walked to the main room, where she picked up the envelope on the desk and opened it. _Weird_, Hilda thought, _Feliciano rarely ever send me a letter. He hasn't sent me one since I was little_.

She slipped her nail under the closed flap and tore it open, taking out a piece of written paper and reading it:

"_My precious bambalina,_

_Come stai? It's been some time since I last saw you, but I wanted to write to you about something very important, and I hope you will listen and consider._

_I am completely aware of you and Emilio's fallout not too long ago, but it is because of him that our family is suffering. We worry everyday about him, and the reason why is because he has been too fond of the drink and sits for hours in Romano's kitchen, consuming more liquor than I can imagine him to on a regular basis. His mother, Benedetta, has gotten to the point where she is more than willing to kick him out of the house, and Romano doesn't seem to care a bit about his rekindled drinking problem. He feeds into it, getting him more of what he wants and letting him drown his liver in poison by the fluid ounce. I went to his house last night to join them for dinner, and he was late, so I went into the kitchen and found him holding a carving knife, looking down at it as if he were going to kill himself. I asked what he was doing, but he just opened the drawer out of which he got the knife and put it back, looking back at me as if there was no problem at all. I know for sure that his moods are getting worse, and his alcoholism isn't helping one bit._

_I would ask you to help just because I feel as though Emilio would be happy to see you again, but whenever I mention you or someone else mentions you to him or in front of him, he breaks down and takes a tantrum. I can tell he wants you back, but I know also that if you have moved on with someone else, it would just make matters worse. My proposal is this—will you come to Italy to see him, even if it is just for a day or two? It would mean a lot to our family if you did so; we hate seeing our Emilio suffer from his addiction—it's eating him alive along with his emotions._

_Sincerely,_

_Feliciano_"

Hilda's great blue eyes scanned every bit of text, analyzing it carefully before her orbs were deluged in warm, salty tears. She sucked in her lips in a sad smile to stop herself from crying, but she couldn't help it. Both the hormones from early pregnancy and the emotions brought on by the letter prompted her to cry,  
catching the attention of her father, who stood in the doorway for a moment before walking toward his daughter.

"Hilda, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" he asked, placing his hand on her arms as he looked down at her. The letter was still in her hand, and she held it up to show him.

"Feliciano sent me…a letter," she sobbed heavily. "It's…it's all…my fault."

"What is your fault, Hilda? Tell me!" he ordered, growing impatient.

"Emilio picked…up drinking…again and he…won't stop," she answered, crying heavily out of pity for her former lover. "He's…going to…die and it'll be…all my fault."

"Nein!" Ludwig protested gruffly. "You chose Hans as your husband, you chose to give yourself to him, and now you are pregnant with _him_! Not some wop! I'll be damned if—"

"DAD!" Hilda shrieked, clutching the fabric on the front of his shirt. It was on his lower chest, not his neck, so it didn't provoke him to hurt her. "Do you realize how many people he is hurting?! Do you even have enough heart to care!? This is Feliciano! Your friend! He's hurting him as much as his own family is being hurt! His mother is threatening to disown him, and all his bastard father is doing is enabling him! I may not love him anymore, but I still care enough to help him get over his addiction!"

Ludwig looked down, feeling his daughter bury her face in the fabric of his clean dark blue dress shirt. Her body shook immensely as she sobbed mindlessly, her tears soaking his clothes. Though he wasn't an emotional man, he still showed his daughter he had a sensitive side by placing his strong arms around her to console her.

"Everything will be alright, Hilda," he said. "I don't know how we can help though." He let her go, and she wiped her eyes, catching her breath so it was at a normal rate again. She looked at the last part of the letter and looked back up into her father's light blue eyes.

"Dad, Feliciano asks for me to go to Italy to see him even if it is for one day," she said, answering his thought.

"Hilda, you are supposed to get a wedding dress tomorrow with your mother and the others," Ludwig said, shaking his head with his eyebrows raised.

"Nein, it can wait. I need to do what's right first. I need to know I am on better terms with Emilio before going any further," she protested.

"If you plan on going, you cannot go alone. I won't allow it. In fact, maybe I should—"

"Nein. You know how much his father hates you. It'll only provoke him to be rude to you," she told him. Ludwig nodded, agreeing with her sense of logic.

"Ja, that is true, but I'm only going for Feliciano. He's been my friend for so long. It's only in our best interest to help the young man get back on his feet even if it means beating him senseless," he told her.

"Nein, _no_ beating Emilio. That is one rule I have for you, dad," Hilda said, pointing her finger at her father. "I'm going to tell Hans right away. Hopefully he understands."

"Alright. I'll make arrangements and instruct Mathilde to pack our suitcases," Ludwig said, walking away as Hilda went to the other room where Hans was.

He sat at the table, figuring out the total for the food, venue, and music as Hilda stood in the doorway nervously, thinking of what to say. She still had the letter in her hand, but it was folded back the way it was when it was in the envelope. She walked in and took a seat next to her fiancé, looking at the calculations he did on scrap paper. It was messy, but every digit was figured out correctly. Suddenly, Hans noticed her there and smiled, kissing her on the cheek. However, he noticed the sad, weary look in her eyes.

"Hilda, is everything alright?" he asked.

"Ja," she sighed. "I came to talk to you about something very important, and I hope you will understand why I am telling you this." He put the pencil down and looked at her attentively.

"Ja?" he said. Hilda took a deep breath before telling him.

"Hans, I received a letter today, and it brought me some…very bad news," she said. Hans grew worried, but he still listened.

"It came from…Italy, and a family friend, Feliciano, sent it to me in specific, telling me that…how should I say this…Emilio is..."

"Dead?" Hans asked, looking at her with confusion.

"Nein," Hilda said. "He is suffering. Big time."

"H-how so, Hilda?" he asked, resting his hand on top of hers, which laid flat on the table as she spoke with trepidation.

"He is drinking again," she said, beginning to cry. "He's hurting his family, and they're all worried about him. His mother is threatening to kick him out the house, and his no-good father is only feeding into the problem and letting him destroy himself."

Hans, out of deep sympathy for his fiancée, held her close to him, letting her cry on his shoulder as she wnet on to tell him more about what was in the letter.

"Then, Feliciano wrote in the letter that he caught Emilio…with a knife…trying to…kill himself, but he looked as though nothing had happened…to Feliciano," Hilda sobbed.

"That's terrible," he said. "How are you going to help him? _Are _you going to help him?" He let her go, and she wiped her tears before continuing.

"Feliciano wrote that he wants me to come to Italy in order to try and make him feel better and probably to have me help him stop drinking," Hilda told him. Hans gasped, looking at her with uncertainty.

"Hilda, I thought he meant nothing to you anymore," he assumed. "I love you, and we're getting married. Right?"

"Oh, ja! Of course we are, Hans! I love you! I really do not have any feelings toward Emilio, except maybe that I feel really bad for him. I need to help him," she said persuasively. "For eight years, we were together, and even though I am with you now, I still care about him enough to help him get on his feet again. _Bitte_, Hans, I will be back in Germany in two days, three days the latest—I need to know he and I are on good terms before I move on any further with the wedding. It's only for the greater good."

Hans sighed, thinking long and hard as he looked into Hilda's eyes. One of the reasons he fell in love with her was showing through her jaded blue eyes—she was more than willing to help someone in need no matter who they were or what it would cost her. He understood that Emilio was in her life long before he was, and he knew that it would be selfish to keep her if she needed to do something important.

"Ja, Hilda. I'm supporting you to go and help him," Hans finally said. "You aren't going to Italy alone, are you?"

"Nein, my father agreed to go with me," she said. "In fact, he was the first person I told about this. Oh, danke, Hans. This means a lot to me."

"It's nothing," he told her, smiling. "I'm proud of you. You are doing a great thing for him, and…it's one of the reasons why I love you."

"I can't let him destroy himself," Hilda said. "Thank you very much, Hans. I'll never forget it."

"When are you leaving?" Hans asked, picking his pencil up as Hilda left her seat. She turned and looked at him as he sat in the chair doing more calculations.

"Tomorrow. Early in the morning," she told him, leaving the room casually.


	21. Chapter 21

The flight to Italy was a short one, but all in all, it tired Hilda out more than the agonizing stress did. Between her wedding, her pregnancy, and having to worry about Emilio's fate, it was too much on her shoulders—nevertheless, she knew he had to do the right thing. When the plane landed at Rome's airport, Ludwig and his daughter got off the plane, and as they were waiting for their luggage to come to them, a familiar, cheery voice was heard from a distance.

"Germany! Germany!" the voice said. Hilda looked over—it was none other than Feliciano. "Hilda, you came! Oh, sono felice puoi a venire a auitare Emilio. Ha bisogni di auito." Hilda nodded, looking at her old friend solemnly.

"Fu solo nel mio interesse migliore per aiutarlo a tornare in pista. Non potevo sopportare di vedere lo stesso andare giù il percorso sbagliato," Hilda responded, grabbing her suitcase from the conveyor belt. Ludwig grabbed his, and before long, Feliciano led them outside to his car, where he drove off to his own house.

The Italian was not as much a reckless driver as he was during his youth, but his driving skills were still shaky. At times during their ride to their destination, he went a bit too fast or a bit too slow, but once they reached the house, Hilda was glad he wasn't driving anymore. As she got out of the car, she looked the exterior of Feliciano's villa, which he had lived in since before the Second World War. It was made of beautiful stone and had lovely, exotic greenery growing along the cobblestone path to the door. Above the front door was a balcony with wrought-iron railing in front of a beautiful set of glass French doors. She smiled, taking her suitcase with her as the Italian led her inside.

The two were shown their guest rooms in which they would sleep in during their stay. Hilda particularly liked her room—it was a highly decorated room with two beautiful vases full of flowers, a short dresser with a mirror to check her reflection, and a queen-sized bed covered with a pretty pink bedspread, topped with two fluffy white pillows. Ludwig's room was a rather plain, but he didn't mind it because it was how his own lifestyle was like despite his wealth and influence. They settled in for about two hours in advance before Hilda and Feliciano went to Emilio's house. The Italian knocked on the door gently, and to it came Benedetta, who stared at the beautiful German girl in shock. _Who is she_, she thought as Feliciano greeted her with the usual kiss to the cheek and hug.

"Buon giorno! I brought a guest!" Feliciano said.

Benedetta stared at Hilda, studying her delicate, angelic features. Her great blue eyes looked at her in a friendly manner, and she couldn't have been more than five-feet, five inches. She was definitely taller than her, but Benedetta was not intimidated by her because of her innocent face—her large blue eyes, her soft blonde hair, her small nose and petite mouth. She smiled and greeted her accordingly using broken English laced with an Italian accent.

"Hello," she said. Her attention turned to Feliciano, looking at him curiously as she whispered: "Chi é questa bellezza bionda?" Hilda was flattered. _She called me a 'blonde beauty'_, she thought happily, _if this is Emilio's mother, she seems kind. I think I'll like my stay here._

"This is Hilda, Emilio's former…uh…well, let's just say they were together up until a little while ago. She came all the way from Germany to…uh…help us with his issue," Feliciano said, his voice turning to a whisper during the last words of his sentence used to state her purpose. Benedetta looked at her, her facial expression turning glum and sad.

"Do you…speak Italian, _donna giovane_?" she asked the young woman, who nodded in return.

"Si, parlo italiano, e capisco te perfettamente," Hilda told her in a flawlessly-spoken sentence. Benedetta smiled at the young woman, welcoming her into the home.

"Grazie per il tuo aiuto, signorina," Benedetta said with deep gratitude.

"_Prego_," Hilda said. "I could never bear to see Emilio hurt himself like he has been." Benedetta stopped and sat on the sofa, looking up at Hilda frightfully.

"Penso lui é nella cucina ma puoi vedere lui," she told her as Feliciano held her hand and led her slowly to the kitchen.

Benedetta's first impression of her son's whereabouts were correct—in the kitchen, Emilio was getting a drink ready for himself, but before he could take a sip, he saw his uncle come in with Hilda. His amber-brown eyes widened. _Is she really here_, he thought with disbelief as he marveled at her exquisite presence. It seemed like yesterday that Emilio felt hurt because she was friends with Hans, but now, she seemed like a stranger to him, as though all the alcohol he drank wiped his most important memories away.

"Ciao, Emilio," Hilda finally said, anticipating his reaction to seeing her there.

"Oh, ciao," he said casually, as if he had never spent eight years being in a relationship with her. He took a sip of whiskey from his glass and looked at his uncle in a bewildered daze—whiskey always made him violent.

"Quanti bibite hai bevuto, Emilio?" Feliciano asked, lifting the bottle of Jack Daniels to emphasize what he was saying. In response, the young man snatched the bottle out of his uncle's hand and slammed it on the table roughly, taking a deep breath before taking another sip of his whiskey.

"Non lo so," Emilio said, looking at Hilda soon after answering. "Che cavolo vuoi?"

"Io solamente voglio vedere te," Hilda answered sincerely. Emilio began laughing hysterically as if she were joking.

"Perché? You…you don't love me," he said belligerently—the whiskey was working, and Feliciano knew things were going to get ugly. _That's right, I don't_, she thought.

"Emilio, I think you should stop drinking now," he suggested. "Why not get some gelato instead?"

"No! Just…j…just get out!" Emilio growled, scaring Hilda to the point where she fled the room to join Benedetta in the other. Feliciano, however, stayed in the kitchen to monitor his nephew's actions.

"Basta bevendo, Emilio! You're going to be hung-over again!" he said, taking his bottle of whiskey and dumping it down the sink.

"No! Sei un cazzo!" he grunted, grabbing his uncle to try and prevent him from dumping his precious beverage down the drain.

However, he managed to grab the bottle, smashing the bottom off so it served as weapon for him to use against Feliciano. In the living room, Benedetta jumped from her seat and sprinted to the kitchen to see what was broken after hearing the shattering sound of the bottle breaking. Hilda was so scared she ran out of the house and back to find her father so he could break them up.

"Emilio? Che cosa stai facendo?" she asked with worry, watching as he was jabbing at Feliciano, who was trying to shield himself on the floor like the coward he was.

"No! Don't kill me! Please don't hurt me! I did nothing wrong! I only did it for your safety!" he screamed, trying to fend him off.

"That was my last bottle of whiskey, you asshole! Now I have to wait until papá gets back home from work to get a new bottle! That's five hours from now! Do you realize how long of a wait that is?!" Emilio shouted, continuing his attack on his cowering uncle. Benedetta ran in and clutched her son in her arms, pulling her away from her brother-in-law with all her might. Hilda, on the other hand, had just returned with Ludwig after finding him walking in the town square.

"Stop it!" Benedetta shouted. "Have you lost your mind?!"

"Let me go, mamma! I beg you! Let me go!" Emilio shouted. Meanwhile, Hilda took Feliciano up from the floor and took him into the other room. Ludwig looked at Emilio, and once the young man caught sight of the intimidating, tall, strong man standing in the doorway, he stopped struggling in his mother's arms, staring at him wide-eyed as though the German were a monster. Promptly, Benedetta let her son go, and once they were face-to-face with each other, she knew she had to do something about his actions.

"Vai via di qui. Adesso!" she hissed. "Non sei mio figlio! Non conosco te di piú." Emilio looked at his mother, giggling foolishly at her orders.

"Tu finalemente sta spedendo me via di qui," he responded, still laughing.

"Adesso, Emilio! ADESSO! Vai via di qui!" Benedetta shrieked, pointing toward the front door.

"Va bene," Emilio responded, walking toward the doorway past Ludwig. "You all don't care about me anyway. I'm a mess, mamma!"

He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room to get to the front door, but once he caught sight of Hilda checking for any wounds or scratches on his Uncle Feliciano, he stopped and watched her absent-mindedly. She checked him carefully on his hands, face, neck, or any other part which may have been exposed to Emilio's sharp, smashed bottle, but managed to find only one scratch across the man's cheek. It was very shallow, and looked as though it would heal up within a matter of days. Her great blue eyes burned with anger towards her former lover as she caught sight of him standing there.

"Mi molto dispiace, zio," Emilio said. Hilda sprung up from her seat next to Feliciano and approached him angrily. _He's an entirely different person now_, she thought, _why waste my time getting on better terms with him_?

"Mein gott, Emilio," she said with reluctance. "You know, I only came to help you stop being such a fuck to your family members. Now…I…" Tears began falling from her eyes—she knew she had to be careful otherwise she would lose the baby due to stress. "I don't know you anymore, either, Emilio. I'm sorry!"

"Why are you crying?" he asked with surprising calm as he walked to place his arms around her. Feliciano looked up at his nephew in shock, while in the kitchen doorway, Benedetta and Ludwig saw Emilio redeem himself with a kind, sober gesture toward Hilda. She rested her head against his chest—it just didn't feel the same as Hans' protective embraces.

"I'm very worried about you, Emilio. I know I may not love you anymore, but I still care about you," she wailed. Emilio heard what she said and sighed, feeling himself sober up again. It was a quick recovery from just a few sips of his violence-inducing tonic. As he held her, it sparked wonderful memories in his head, and he felt her glowing aura from the child slowly growing inside of her. She was still small, but she knew that she would get bigger by the next two or three months.

"You…you do?" he asked. "I thought you…you hurt me."

"I didn't hurt _you_, Emilio. You hurt _me_ by thinking _I_ hurt you. Don't you see? Hans and I were just friends, but because you left, I have to tell you the truth about what's been going on lately," Hilda told him, wiping her tears away. "Want to go for some gelato?"

"No, I'd like some more whiskey," Emilio said. "Or maybe to a bar."

"Nein, Emilio. No more drinking. You got yourself into bad habits. Look at your uncle!" she said, gesturing toward the couch where Feliciano sat. "You attacked him. You've been plagued by your addiction for too long now, and you have to stop it now. Please promise me!"

"Why? I don't even see you anymore, and we aren't together anymore. Why would it matter?" he wondered coldly. Suddenly, Feliciano got up and placed his hand on his nephew's shoulder, about to say something of important significance.

"Do you remember that night when you told me, '_I love her, and I don't want to hurt her with some stupid addiction?_'" he stated.

Hilda's eyes widened as she looked up in Emilio's amber-brown eyes. His eyes wandered as the flashback played like a movie clip in his mind. He smiled down at Hilda, caressing her face gently, remembering the night he spent drinking with Feliciano. The words came clear to his memory, and before long, he broke out singing the same song he had sung when he made dinner that evening.

"_Si è visto nei fiori e perlato rugiada di mattina; _

_Nel verde della terra ore e nel cielo di blu eterna. _

_Si è sentito in primavera quando luce e raggi di sole, _

_Caldi e gentile, su d'angelo ala portare amore e musica per la mente. _

_E dove voce, di così giovane, _

_Così bella e dolce come natura scelta, _

_Dove primavera e gli amanti si incontrano? _

_Amore vita oltre la tomba, e la terra, che svanisce come rugiada! _

_Amo le fond, i fedeli e il vero."_

Hilda smiled at his flirtations, reminding her of when she was fourteen and they first met. Starting to laugh, she took the hands of both Feliciano and Emilio, taking them toward the front door.

"Let's get out of here. I'm dying for gelato," she said cheerfully.


	22. Chapter 22

Hilda's pregnancy cravings got the best of her when she, Feliciano, and Emilio went out for some gelato. Within an hour, she had consumed more than three bowls, each covered with various delectable toppings that made the two Italians really jealous. She didn't eat like a pig or a dog, even—she ate her ice cream with big spoonfuls that made the two men question themselves as to why she ate so much gelato. _Something is up with Hilda_, Emilio thought, watching her take another big spoonful of gelato and wiping her small mouth with a napkin after, _I've never seen her eat this much in all my life. She looks different, as though she is glowing. I wonder what has been going on. She hasn't told me_.

"Hilda, that was your third bowl," he finally said, feeling like he was insulting her. She looked at him, swallowed her ice cream and smiled awkwardly.

"Ja?" she wondered. "Your point is?"

"It's just that…I've never seen you eat like that in all my life," he said. "Besides, you've never told me what's been going on since I left that day."

It was time—the moment was truth had come. Hilda knew he had to know the truth at one point or another. She sighed and pushed her empty bowl away from her, spoon and all.

"I guess it's time for me to tell you both some big news," Hilda finally said, looking into his amber-brown eyes. Emilio nodded, his eyes widening in anticipation of what she was going to tell him.

"Si? What is it?" he asked. Feliciano also listened attentively.

"Let's just say…expect an invitation coming your way," Hilda told him.

"What do you mean? Are you having a party?" Feliciano asked cheerfully. "YAY!"

"Nein, Feliciano. It's a wedding invitation," she finally said. Emilio looked at her blankly and nodded.

"You…you're getting married?" he asked worriedly. "When?"

"August 20th," she told him.

"Who is the lucky man?" Feliciano asked.

"It's Hans," Emilio answered as Hilda stared at him with wonder.

"How did you—"

"Si, I knew it was going to happen," he said sadly. Hilda noticed the morose tone in his voice and the sad look on his face, so she leaned in closer to try cheering him up.

"I…guess it was…inevitable. After you left, Hans and I…well…we fell in love and…it just all happened so quickly," Hilda said. "There was a reason why I accepted his proposal."

"What's that?" Emilio asked, still sad from her good news. He still had feelings for her, and he knew he always would have feelings for her.

"I'm…I'm pregnant," Hilda said.

Both of the Italians looked at her in shock, but Feliciano received the news very well. He smiled and cheered for her, causing her to blush.

"Aw! Un bambino sta crescendo nella pancia! So cute!" he said in his usual cheery voice. Emilio kept a blank stare on her, and smiled sadly.

"I…well…that explains why you are eating so much ice cream," he said.

"Congratulazioni!" Feliciano said. "I am definitely coming to your wedding, Hilda!"

"Grazie," she said with a shy smile.

"Was your father upset?" Emilio asked.

"Non lo so," Hilda responded. "I guess he was, but the doctor told him and Hans when I was in my room. I had fainted, and I was brought up to the room. My father called a doctor, and sure enough, that's when I found out."

"Does Hans treat you well?" Feliciano asked, taking a spoonful of gelato into his mouth. Emilio just looked at her, waiting for her to answer.

"Ja, I'm very happy with him. We're compatible, and of course, I can't wait for our wedding. I was supposed to pick out a wedding dress today with my mother, Hans' aunt, and our maid Mathilde," she explained.

"There are lovely wedding dresses here in Italia," Feliciano said. "Our brides are usually so beautiful."

"I know," she replied. "Italian women are beautiful. Feliciano, why didn't you ever marry?" He looked at her and sighed sadly.

"I have liked women before, but they never loved me enough to marry me," he answered. "It's kind of sad, but I'm happy being single. It gives me an opportunity to flirt whenever I want to."

"They called him '_amabile perdente_,'" Emilio joked, giggling heartily.

"Hey, watch it, you," Feliciano said, playing along with him. Emilio sighed and looked at him sincerely, their eyes meeting kindly.

"Zio?" the young man asked.

"Si, nipote?" Feliciano asked.

"Mi molto dispiace per tutto ció che," he told him genuinely. "For attacking you, being mean to everybody, and for brushing off your advances and efforts to help me. I'm glad you brought Hilda with you—it means a lot to see she still cares." His eyes turned to Hilda as he placed his hand on top of hers gently.

"As for you, Hilda, you have my blessings," he told her, causing her to smile. "It would be selfish and pointless to say that I still love you when you are clearly happy with another man. Hans _is_ a good match for you, and you should start a family with him."

"Oh, Emilio," she sighed happily. "You really think so?"

"Si, I do. Look at me—I'm a mess. Why would you want to marry someone like me?" Emilio asked. "I'm a drunkard, and that's all I ever will be at this rate. If we got married and had children, it would be like living with the devil. I wouldn't want to cause you harm by marrying me and having to put up with my addiction."

"Even if you were the man I'm marrying this August, I'd still help you and in time for the wedding," Hilda told him sincerely. "But, I love Hans and I'm happy with him. Nothing will ever change that."

"Capisco," he said. "It's perfectly fine with me."

"Will you still attend my wedding?" she asked.

"No, I doubt it," Emilio said. "But if I can make it, I'll have a speech prepared and a nice gift for you both." Hilda giggled at this thought, smiling at his genuity.

"Danke," she said. "It means a lot to see you happy that I am happy."

"I wouldn't want it any other way, Hilda," he told her.


	23. Chapter 23

"Hilda, you look amazing," Krista told her as she helped her get ready for her big day. "You look like a princess!"

Hilda and Hans' wedding came as quick as preparations did, and at this moment, she was being helped by maid of honor, Mathilde, and bridesmaids Johanna, Katarina and Gretchen. One she was clad in her beautiful white dress, she was brought to the full-length mirror to let her see herself for the first time as a bride.

The young woman gasped in awe of her appearance—her dress fit perfectly, and even though she was slightly bloated, the bodice of the dress helped hide any stomach bulges. It consisted of a full white satin skirt with a tank-top styled bodice covered with a sheer, lace-trimmed fabric that accentuated her bust and made her waist all the smaller. Her blonde hair was styled in a French twist, and it was styled in such a way that not a single stray strand was out of place. Around her neck was the diamond necklace Hans had given her the night she attended the opera with him, and she wore the pearl earrings, also a gift from her husband-to-be.

Krista was holding the veil, waiting for Katarina to finish placing the tiara on Hilda's head, and once she put it on, she fastened it to the tiara with a few bobby pins before laying the front part over her daughter's innocent, beautiful face gently, making her look every bit the virgin bride she was supposed to be. Hilda looked at herself, thinking about the wedding ceremony. About 150 people were invited for the wedding, but only 50 were planning on showing up—Krista had a huge family back in the Netherlands, and even though she extended the courtesy of inviting them to her daughter's wedding, they refused to come simply because of her promiscuous past. She just brushed it off and looked on the bright side. _At least some were able to attend_, she thought as she looked at her daughter.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"A little," Hilda said. "I'm excited more than anything, though."

"Wonderful. You look beautiful," she said. "Let's all go down to the limo. We'll be late for the wedding."

When they arrived at the church, Hans was already standing at the altar with the pastor, anticipating the moment when Ludwig was to walk down the aisle with his beautifully-dressed daughter. The church fell silent as the bridesmaids and mother of the bride made their way down the altar, but it was when the organ started playing the bridal march that Hans gasped in awe of his bride, arm in arm with her father. He felt a tear form in his eye, but to prevent anybody from thinking he was weak, he wiped it away and continued to stare at Hilda, whose face was glowing under her sheer, white veil, until she came to the altar.

Ludwig took great pride in his final moments as Hilda being a Bielschmidt—as he walked down the aisle with his daughter, tons of mixed emotions regarding her life in general made him feel reluctant to let her go, but he knew it was inevitable. He somehow wished he was rewind his life to the moment when she was a young child being accepted into the BenedicktAcademy, but he knew it wouldn't be possible. When they finally reached the altar, Ludwig sighed, his eyes meeting with his daughter's as he slowly let her go in order to savor his last moments with her being in his family. Hilda felt tears form in her eyes at his subtle sentimentality, but finally she said something.

"Dad," she whispered. "You can let go now." His hand was in hers, and it was all over once he let her go and went back to his seat in the front pew. Krista cried tears of joy as she witnessed her husband and daughter parting ways, but really, it was just another beginning.

* * *

"Relax! Breathe, frau," Dr. Hendler ordered calmly as he assisted Hilda in her labor. Eight months after her wedding to Hans, Hilda began to contract, and it was when her water broke that Hans finally called the doctor over to their house.

The young woman was now living at Hans' small, quaint blue house, and had gotten ready to move in with him shortly after their August wedding. Now, it was the end of March, 1966—spring had already begun, and it was the perfect time to have a child. By her bedside was Hans, who held his wife's hand as she struggled to bring their child into the world. He was worried about her, and hearing her cry and scream from the pain only made him more nervous.

"It hurts!" she wailed.

"It's alright! I'm beginning to see its head," the doctor said, smiling at her progress. "You're doing great! Keep pushing!"

Her breathing was fast, and she continued to wail and cry until the squeals and shrieks sounding like that of an infant became heard. Their child had finally been born, and Hilda smiled and cried even more as she saw Dr. Hendler holding it in such a way that he was able to check its gender.

"What is it?" Hans finally asked. The doctor smiled at the young man as he put a clamp on its umbilical cord.

"It's a girl," he said. "I need to clean her off before you can hold her, though."

"Did you hear that?" the young man whispered excitedly. "We have a baby daughter!"

"Oh, danke, Gott," she said, giggling out of happiness.

Soon after the doctor cut her cord and bathed her, he wrapped the baby girl in a clean yellow blanket, handing her to her smiling mother. Hilda and Hans both looked at the face of their baby, and saw that she closely resembled her mother with her great, big blue eyes and light blonde wisps on her head. The baby girl cooed and smiled up at them with her eyes only.

"Aw, she is beautiful," Hilda said sweetly.

"She looks just like you," Hans said. "We should name her right away." Hilda looked at her baby in deep thought before answering.

"Elsa is a very nice name," she finally said.

"Sounds good to me," he responded. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Elsa," Hilda replied. "Elsa Kristanna Schweitzer."

THE END

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